No One's Hero: Book One
by The Cynic
Summary: Guinivere Marlowe is not an exchange student. She isn't blond, she isn't sweet, and I sincerely hope she isn't a Mary Sue. She does not fall in love with Harry Potter, amazingly enough. No, Guin is a Slytherin, the daughter of a dark witch and a murdered
1. Prologue

No One's Hero  
  
A child's cries echoed forlornly in the chamber, of stone but not yet older than the century. The starkly furnished room was gloomy and lit by a fire buried deep in an immaculate hearth, deep enough to prevent any heat from escaping. It fizzled and popped eerily, sending sparks flying from the crackling wood. Shadows cast ghostly lines upon the large, canopied bed, upon which a woman cradled a bloody infant, ignoring the stains that rubbed the virginal white of her nightgown. No love was evident in her eyes, a chilly pale vert, as she examined her offspring critically.  
  
A light creak sounded and the elaborately carved door swung open gently of its own accord, admitting to the faux Gothic splendor, a man. He stood framed in the dark light of the chamber, imperially slim, shadowed and impeccable. "Angeline.. give me the child." Soulless eyes pooled into hers, ignoring the sanguine crumpled form of the baby, who had suddenly fallen silent. Graceful hands curved hidden in the folds of his robe; liquidly pale skin concealed from Angeline's view.  
  
"No," Angeline said coldly, her own face bled dry of color. Even her lips, normally a deep plum red, were thinned and lamb-pink. Blond curls hung damply in tight ringlets around her head, unusually messy and soaked with sweat, but her composure was more than enough to make up for her bedraggled, girlish appearance. Hidden by the crimson bundle, her hands gripped the polished length of wood tightly, knuckles growing whiter as she stared back at the man. Edmund. Her husband.  
  
Angeline, I have no time for jokes. Give me the child and I shall let you go." The voice of Edmund Marlowe was softy, steely, resigned. "By God, I shall let you go, but give me the child!" Baritone, upper-class accents rose with the feeling of his demand. More the fool he, noted Angeline, he had not yet reached for the wand she knew to be concealed in the sleeve of his robes. Edmund always had been too sentimental for his own good, she thought, light-headedly.  
  
"Am I joking, Edmund? Why should I hand over my child to a filthy traitor?" The last word ripped from her mouth, spat out as though it dirtied her lips to speak it. Angeline paused, "Mm, tell me this. How faithful did you stay after the Potter incident? I think not; Guinivere will grow up in a proper home, and faithful to the memory of the Dark Lord." She noticed with some satisfaction that his dace had paled. In her arms, the baby moved fitfully. Angeline pinched the smooth, translucent arm, and it quailed.  
  
Edmund took a step forward at this, his arm reaching out of its own volition. "I realized my mistake before the Potter boy. Angeline, if you won't give me the child, at least see the error of your ways! Leave the slavery of Voldemort, shake off your shackles—" Abruptly his face softened and the impassioned flow of words trickled to a tone no less intense, that grated upward from his throat, distorting his calm features. "I still love you."  
  
The woman on the bed, entirely in control of the situation, turned her wan face on her husband's, the angelic smile chilling and heartbreaking in its beauty. "You are the one who should see the error, Edmund. You always were irrational." She shifted a bit, sitting up to see over the mound of her stomach, stretched now by the birth she had gone through. Another smile, this one colder than before – one could imagine icicles tracing their patterns over her lips. "Edmund, repudiating the Dark Lord will not save you. He will return. And when he does… Well. I would not want to be in your position."  
  
"Angeline, listen to me! The darkness consumes you, it eats you up from the inside.. Do you think that Voldemort shows mercy, at all? He will kill you as soon as kill me."  
  
"You will refer to him as the Dark Lord!" Angeline snapped, lips curling away from perfect white teeth. "I have had enough of this nonsense, Edmund! You were a fool to return here!" Her arm slipped away from where it had been snugged around the baby, who had been unnaturally silent throughout the whole affair. It tumbled to the sheets as Angeline moved, raising the wand high and intoning, "Crucio!" Edmund Marlowe crumpled to the floor as she struggled to her feet, still smiling her heart-breakingly. "I shall enjoy this."  
  
Edmund's screams trailed into sobbing hiccups, and after a while, faded.  
  
-----  
  
Slim and confident once more, Angeline Marlowe stood in the airport, silent servant holding the baby carrier trailing mutely behind her. Curls were pulled into a bun, but Angeline had pulled several strands from the main mass, allowing them to hang girlishly around her face. Turning her head to the side, Angeline examined the schedule, annoyed. With all the baggage she carried, as well as the infant Guinivere, it was impossible to Apparate to her new destination. The sight of all the Muggles milling around turned her stomach.  
  
Guinivere had made several burbling noises, and Angeline narrowed crystal-green eyes. "Sarah, if you cannot keep the child quiet, I shall make you very sorry indeed." Sarah's dull gaze grew panicked as she shook her head rapidly, indicating through signs that Guin would not cry out again. The woman had at one time been a fairly powerful witch in her own right, though Angeline had put a stop to that. Missing her vocal cords, now, Sarah was a mute, and a useful servant indeed, if a bit soft in the head. "Good," Angeline said sweetly, tapping her foot against the ground.  
  
A Muggle in a blue and gold uniform approached her, and she thought he looked quite silly indeed. Disgusting. "Can I help you, ma'am?" he inquired politely, with a smile that faded as Angeline's silver-bell voice washed over him, melodious, euphonious, and venomous. After listening for several seconds, he gulped. "Yes'm," he said, eyes glazed over, "Right'm. Right away, m'm." The man picked up her baggage, and helped her to carry it towards the gate.  
  
Though she despised them, Angeline had always made a point to know what Muggles saw as odd and out of place, so that when she was forced to travel among them, no one noticed the difference. What they saw was not a powerful witch, but instead a successful businesswoman with a spitfire temper, flaring up indiscriminately at whatever stood in her way. High heels clicked self-importantly as she moved towards the gate, not even bothering to check whether or not Sarah had followed. She knew that the woman would be too terrified not to.  
  
Angeline Marlowe was leaving behind the life she had known before. Change, however, was good. She welcomed change. And how that Edmund was gone, there was no one to stop her from running a free rein. The countryside awaited, and the hereditary Marlowe manor. A passing Muggle stared momentarily at this beautiful young woman, so pure and soft, and wondered for a moment on the pure sweetness of her smile.  
  
-----  
  
Guinivere Marlowe's large, pale green eyes blinked back tears as she watched her mother closely. The chiming voice of Angeline echoed in her ears, but she tried not to hear the words. Her mother, the five-year-old knew, was a master at making her feel horrible, worthless; a bad girl who didn't deserve to live. While she stared at the floor, Guin sucked on her thumb, taking what little comfort she could from that. She could feel the lily-soft skin wrinkling under the saliva.  
  
"Take your fingers out of your mouth," Angeline said, verdant eyes snapping, but face and tone cold as usual. "You look like a cockney, not a Marlowe." It was something of an irony that she still used Edmund's last name, but old habits die hard, after all.. Guin cowered for a moment, fingers still shoved between her lips. "Look at me when I speak to you, Guin." Her tone was reasonable, calm, but that made it all the worse.  
  
Guin continued to stare at the floor, not daring to look at the china-doll features of her mother. "Mama," she said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your spell-box." Even at the callow age she now possessed, Guin articulated her words clearly, in imitation of Angeline's ear pleasing manner. Childish sibilants softened the voice somewhat, still high-pitched enough to be a charming counterpoint against Angeline's alto.  
  
Angeline's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Her face, though outwardly amicable, was tinged with a red flush that suffused her cheek and betrayed the rage beneath. When she spoke, it was a blade covered in morning's dew, the thin silk of a spider's web. "Guinivere Marlowe, you will listen to me, now. You are a worthless, lazy, clumsy… Why do I even bother?" The dismissal was accompanied by a full handed slap that rocked the tiny child backwards, knocking her over in a quivering heap. "Get her out of my sight."  
  
Sarah rushed forward to carry the toddler, silent still, out the door. The outline of a hand, shaded in brilliant crimson hues, stood out against the paleness of her cheek, the translucent infantile quality that somehow still remained there. Comforting hands, expressive and scarred, patted Guin until the tears stopped, walking from the room with her. Sarah, though dull-witted, was a loving surrogate mother, in replacement for what Angeline could never be.  
  
It was then that Guinivere Marlowe made her descision. Whatever she did, she would never be like her mother. And later, when she was older, would come the day when she could show Angeline how wrong the woman had been her entire life. She would shine, and Angeline would love her again. Sarah watched the determined look on Guin's face, and somewhere, in the recesses of what remained of her mind, shuddered. Guin at times looked remarkably like Angeline 


	2. Shadehurst

She was eight when she decided that her mother was insane. It came in no great flash of insight, no sudden understanding, just the gradual and simple realization that Angeline Marlowe was not quite right in the head, and never had been. After that day, Guin treated her mother with the sort of caution that she would have given to a rabid dog. Whether or not Angeline noticed, Guin never knew, only that so long as the doll-faced woman did not harm her, she was happy.  
  
The days when Angeline wished to impart lessons on her daughter, however, were what Guinivere dreaded. Sometimes, Angeline would force her to watch as she tried out her inventive new curses on captive Muggles and wizards alike – a particularly nasty one involved turning the skin inside out. Sarah fretted as her charge tossed in her sleep, always silent. The whimpers that escaped were muted in the pillow, as though Guin was afraid to make a sound.  
  
Her concerned inquiries in sign language bought only solemn shakes of the head from the girl, who refused to admit that the strain of living with Angeline was affecting her. "Mumma, I'm fine," she would tell the older woman. Angeline was always Mother, but Sarah, warm, loving, stupid Sarah, was Mumma perennially. Guin had long ago stopped sucking her thumb, and instead bit the knuckle of the index finger on her right hand, until it bled.  
  
Sarah watched mutely and bandaged the hand, rubbed it with foul-tasting oil to discourage the gnawing, but nothing worked. Always, the skin would be peeled away, revealing raw pink flesh beneath. One day, as Sarah watched Guin playing quietly with a doll, she had a flash of a thought. The girl looked so much like both her parents, their tragic legacy. Pale crystal-green eyes rested in a face that was much like Edmund's, his blunt features softened a bit by Angeline's curves. The hair was a combination, a sort of dark reddish-brown.  
  
"Guinivere, what are the three Unforgivable Curses?" Angeline would ask, as usual no expression in her voice. The little girl would parrot back to her the answers, until Angeline's eyes snapped with delight. "Good, good. You will do well at Shadehurst," the woman remarked amiably, handing her daughter a small white cake, iced and decorated with pink whorls and rosettes of spun sugar. "Eat, child," she prodded gently.  
  
"Shadehurst?" Guin asked, in just as calm a tone. The child munched thoughtfully on her treat, careful to not drop any crumbs on the delicate, white-laced table set with an antique silver tea seat.  
  
"It is a boarding school," Angeline replied, twirling one golden curl around her finger. At twenty-eight, she was still beautiful and youth-filled. "For the Dark Arts. You will attend there for three years, until you are eleven. Then, you will receive a letter from Hogwarts, and remain there for the rest of your grade schooling." Angeline reached out a hand to touch Guin lightly on the arm, and she allowed a small smile to curve her lips. "You will make me proud. I know it."  
  
Guin's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Subconsciously, she wanted only to be loved, and was not fully immune to Angeline's deadly charm. She was a parched, starving child; and Angeline had just given her food and water, and oh, it was good. 'You will make me proud.' Praise from Mother came rare and was treasured. Guin gulped away a lump in her throat and blinked at the table.  
  
Her fingers played with the intricate lace, gently fraying a piece away from the rest. She wanted to make Mother proud, but.. What Angeline did to her captives sickened and frightened the girl. Do what was right, and risk punishment, or make her mother proud and save herself pain and grief? A choice no child should be forced to make, but it was presented now before Guin. Stalling by avoiding her mother's gaze, she began to chew on her knuckle again, re-opening the scab.  
  
"Stop that," Angeline told her. "Well, dear?"  
  
"Yes, Mother," Guin whispered, fighting the urge to gnaw on her bleeding hand. Crimson blood dripped from it and trickled downwards in a stream as Angeline moved her mouth into a smile, clapping her own hands together in a motion of childish delight.  
  
"Thank you, Guin," she said soberly, "That's where both your mummy and your daddy went to school. You'll love it." The lips curled up again, and Guin was not sure whether the last sentence had been an assurance or a threat. "Sarah!" the woman called, waving a dimpled pink hand, "You may clear the tea things away, and after that, assist my Guin as she packs her bags." Turning an eye back to Guin, she finished. "You will leave tomorrow."  
  
She rose, viridian gems absent for a moment as an unearthly shriek echoed through the house, cutting off abruptly as it culminated in a silence worse than the noise. Guin's ears felt raw; they rang uncomfortably. "Ah," Angeline said vaguely, "The new house-guest is settled." Twirling her wand between her fingers like a grim cheerleader's baton, Angeline kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek and glided from the room, leaving behind a faint scent of lavender, violets, and fear.  
  
-----  
  
She hated Shadehurst from the moment she saw it. Guin's hand, caught fast in Angeline's, was unavailable for attempted consumption, and so the girl examined the scenery instead. Though she didn't know the exact location, Shadehurst Preparatory School was located somewhere in the English moors, in a scene straight from Bronte. The wild landscape stretched for miles on either side, with only sheep and scrub-brush in sight – and rocks.  
  
Many rocks in all manner of shape, some in forbidding circles that to her seemed to emanate menace, exuding a feel of terror and dried blood. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Angeline asked softly. Guin didn't think so, but she nodded and stared wide-eyed at the structure that was the pre-eminent school for the Dark Arts in all of Britain. It was large, though it seemed larger, and possessed a palpable aura that made one pull cloaks closer around oneself, in a vain attempt to ward off the unseen force that chilled to the marrow.  
  
It was built of dark gray stone, a rambling building with black shutters and ivy curling along the better half of the rear side. Guin remembered a story about two dolls that lived in an Ivy Cottage, though Shadehurst was far from the cheerful haven depicted there. There were five gables that made up the main body of the school, a ramshackle Gothic glory, the shingles on the roof peeled and faded.  
  
They were greeted by the Head Clerk, a greasy looking man who took care of the technical and detailed business of the school. "Mistress Marlowe! Welcome! Your daughter? Wonderful!" he gushed, gesturing with one withered hand to vacant-eyed servants, indicating for them to take away the few small bags that Guin had carried with her. Angeline, still lightly clasping Guin's hand, started forward ahead of the Clerk, to his delighted exclamations. "My, I see you still remember the way, after all these years and isn't that the truth—"  
  
"Herrin," Angeline broke in, "If I recall, twenty years ago you were not my friend. You looked down upon me and gave Edmund and I much grief indeed. I would not, if I were you, pretend that I have any sort of amicable feelings of nostalgia towards you. My daughter is here for an education, and that is what she will receive – I have not paid money to hear you babble."  
  
During the exchange, Herrin's face had gradually soured until it looked as though someone had shoved several large lemons into his mouth. "I had forgotten, Mistress Marlowe, but I do recall now. As you wish, Mistress Marlowe." Muttering to himself, Herrin gestured for them to follow. "And you, Miss Guinivere.. you will be most welcome here."  
  
As Guin stared up at the darkness of Shadehurst, she thought sardonically to herself that she'd rather not be.  
  
-----  
  
"Concentrate!" Professor Hopkins ordered, staring down his nose at the class as they attempted to make precision cuts in slabs of raw, bloody meat that had been provided for that purpose. Guin bit her lip and fought back nausea as a jet of red fire sparked from her borrowed wand and slashed an incision through the thing in front of her. Other students were also looking sick, but Guin noticed several that seemed to be enjoying the exercise a bit too much.  
  
"The Corteo spell is quite useful for many different applications, as it can cut through most organic material. It focuses a tight beam of magical energy that acts much the same as a knife.." Professor Hopkins informed them, aquiline features twisted in a smirk as he watched his pupils struggling with the scarlet meat. "It has no use in dueling, as it requires constant focus. But in torture, however, against an immobile prisoner, the Corteo incantation shows its mettle." A smile yanked skinny fish-lips upward.  
  
Guin looked quickly away from him and back down at her meat, and immediately wished she hadn't. I will not sick up, I will not sick up, the girl chanted in her head. No expression, like with Angeline. She must show nothing.  
  
Suddenly there was a loud pop, a boy across the room had lost his concentration and accidentally sent the subject of his experiment flying across the chamber, where it landed against the wall with a wet thump and slowly slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Abruptly, a girl several seats away vomited noisily onto the ground, face pale-tinged with green. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stood ignoring the stares of the majority of her class.  
  
Professor Hopkins left his desk and stalked lazily forward, stopping in front of the cheesy-pale student's desk as he peered at her, much like a vulture in front of a rotting carcass. "That, Miss Shiftlet, is the third time this year. I think, Miss, that you are not suited to Shadehurst."  
  
The girl Shiftlet looked more terrified than queasy, now. "No, Professor, you can't! You can't! My parents! They'll—"  
  
"Did I give you leave to speak?" The girl was led away sobbing, and Guin focused her attention on flaying the meat into four perfect pieces.  
  
-----  
  
"What is it, Marlowe, too good to play with the rest of us?" the taunting voices demanded, mocking her. "Oooh, oooh," one of them continued in falsetto, "I'm Guinivere Marlowe and I'm too scared to have fun and hurt a cat! Look! I'm so scared I wet my pants!" The girl was an ugly, sharp-faced creature, who had a name like Petunia or Pricilla or something like that.. It suits her, Guin thought, and closed her arms tighter around the cat she had rescued from the miniature mob.  
  
With one hand, she raised her wand thoughtfully, pointed it at Pricilla, and muttered something under her breath. Instantly, the girl really had wet her pants, a damp patch appearing there, and the other girls shrieked with laughter and forgot their previous victim. It allowed Guinivere to escape, letting go of the cat. "Go far away from here, little one," she whispered to it, watching the skinny feline streak away across the moor. "You're lucky, cat. I can't run."  
  
-----  
  
She was ten years old and had been enrolled in Shadehurst Preparatory for almost three years. Guinivere had learned to appreciate the brooding beauty of the place, but hated everything else about the school. Her only solace was daily forays into the untamed moors. One of her common hiding places was a stone circle, though not one of those tinged with fear. This one, and the accompanying reflective pool, were calmer, even joyful, and when the darkness of Shadehurst grew too oppressive, they were a welcome relief.  
  
Guin examined her face in the pool: she had many of her mother's features, large eyes; thin, straight nose; and a small brown birthmark where her jaw connected to her skull. The rest, she supposed, were her father's – though mother didn't speak of him often. How had he died? Sometimes, feeling morbid, Guin would invent heroic ends for him, to keep herself from hating Edmund too much for leaving her alone with Angeline. Angeline. Guin loved and loathed her at the same time.  
  
Wan, thin, child-features were suddenly not the only ones in the pool. Next to hers, was a face that looked as though it was underneath the water instead of above it! With a yelp of surprise, Guin jumped backwards as the head and shoulders of a blue-haired young woman rose from the water. "Hello, Guinivere Marlowe!" she said in a liquidly musical voice.  
  
"Who – what – who are you?" she stammered.  
  
The woman looked amused, and rose up from the pool a few more feet. Guin noticed absently that her body was transparent, made of water, with only the head, shoulders, and arms seeming solid. "I," the apparition said, "am one form of water-nymph. And you, you are a troubled human-child." The voice burbled and steamed in the fresh tones of a mountain stream.  
  
"I'm not troubled," Guin said automatically.  
  
"You are. You are about to return home, and wonder if you are like your mother. I have watched you as you have watched me, though without knowledge of my existence. And I tell you that you will never be like your mother unless you so wish. Always, you have a choice."  
  
Guin absorbed this in silence, then her naturally suspicious mind took over. "How can you know this? Why do you care?" She sat back on her rear, taking the weight away from her heels. Never had she met a magical creature face-to-face – there were of course dragons in the moors, but they were rare and never close to the school. This, on the other hand – a real live nymph!  
  
"You told your troubles to the rain one afternoon," the woman said, "And the raindrops nourish me." This made some semblance of sense to the girl, and she opened her mouth to speak again. So many questions to ask! Suddenly, the water-nymph glanced sharply at the sun and continued hurriedly. "The time! End-of-term has almost begun. If you have need of me, whisper the name of Aua!"  
  
And with that, she sunk back into the pool, only a disembodied voice whispering, "Never like her unless you wish." Guin stood, staring, wiped her eyes and then turned and ran as fast as she could back to Shadehurst, heart lighter than it had been in years – she was finally leaving the school behind.  



	3. Diagon Alley

"I am pleased with your marks at Shadehurst," said Angeline, holding a delicate whine glass that had in it a light rosy liquid, in the other hand she had a sheet of paper. Most of her attention was focused on the page, though the wineglass traveled to her mouth at regular intervals. She lounged backward, chilly green eyes scanning the page quickly, and smiled. "Very pleased," she repeated, nodding and placing Guin's grades on the table. Leaning back, she looked very much like a pale pantheress.  
  
Guin relaxed as well. She found, that after three years at Shadehurst, she was no longer petrified of Mother. Wary, yes, but the fear that turned her stomach to ice was no longer there. "Thank you, Mother," she said, arms resting on the sides of the white whicker chair. They sat outside, enjoying the summer day on the carefully landscaped patio. The table, white iron constructed to resemble the more organic shape of the chairs, had on it Angeline's silver tea service.  
  
"So, daughter, tell me – what have you learned?" Angeline reached out to pick up a cracker with a thin layer of cream cheese spread over it, and on top of that, finely sliced cucumbers in a pattern reminiscent of a snake's skin. Catching the crumbs in one hand as she bit into the snack, the woman flicked them away from herself and onto the ground.  
  
Guin was saved from answering, because suddenly, a large owl flew overhead. It was a tawny, healthy-looking creature, with huge golden slit-pupiled eyes. The shock of seeing an owl in broad daylight faded as it dropped something into her lap, a heavy parchment envelope with a neatly pressed purple seal holding the thing shut. Guin picked it up carefully, holding it warily as though the paper might suddenly explode.  
  
Angeline watched the owl shrewdly as it wheeled away, placing the glass on the table as she looked mischievously towards her daughter. It was obvious she knew what the letter was. "Well? Open it!" she exclaimed, with unusual show of good cheer.  
  
Guin obliged, inserting her thumb carefully underneath the wax. Two pieces of paper dropped from it; one had a printed letter on it, and the other was a list. Both bore the public-school writing of a woman. "It's from Hogwarts," Guin said, as two identical green gazes met over the rim of the vellum.  
  
"Excellent," said Angeline approvingly, "And they're on schedule, too. We shall buy your things tomorrow."  
  
-----  
  
They went to Diagon Alley through Muggle London, early in the morning so that they might stay the day. Dressed in black slacks and an ebon, sleeveless shirt, Angeline blended in nicely, and Guin, in baggy khaki shorts and a gray short-sleeved shirt, more so. As they walked, Angeline murmured into Guin's ear, pointing out the landmarks that they passed. They slowed, and Guin saw it right away.  
  
It was a dingy pub, with a sign that read "T e Leaky Cauld on." Several of the letters, obviously painted a long time ago, had peeled away and created a rather confusing new word. The Muggles walking by did not focus upon the shabby little building. Wizards moved in and out in a steady stream, though to Guin it didn't look big enough to hold them all. Perhaps it does take out, she thought, amused.  
  
Angeline was forced to duck as they moved through the door. It looked much as she had expected, inside, rather dark and crowded, like stepping back in time to the early 1900's. There were a number of witches and wizards gathered in front of the round tables. The bartender, as Angeline had told her earlier, was named Tom. He filled mugs with frothy ale, handing them to the people waiting at the bar counter. "It's in the back," Angeline said, as they moved unnoticed through the tavern and to the back yard.  
  
All that was there was a trashcan, and a rat that hissed and bared its teeth at them. "Avada Kedavra," Angeline said coolly, and there was a flash of bright green light that knocked the rodent over backwards, where it lay sprawled with its feet in the air, dead. Guin blinked but said nothing, Angeline was already counting the number of bricks in the wall. She found the one she wanted and tapped it lightly with her wand, stepping back. Guin watched fascinated as a portal appeared, swirling upward and open.  
  
They walked into the wizard world, and Guin had her first glimpse of Diagon Alley. She liked it instinctively, for it was a loud, cheerful place where one could blend into the crowds easily, where colors shouted and smells beckoned, where you could buy dragon liver and troll toe-nails, five-flavored ice-cream and Every Flavor Beans and owls. Bright signs advertising broomsticks and board games and bat's wings were placed strategically along the storefronts. Never had she seen anything quite like it in her life. Diagon Alley was as far from Shadehurst as she could imagine.  
  
"Gringotts first," said Angeline, and they wove their way through the masses of people. Guin looked at the large marble steps and then at Angeline, who was already moving toward the imposing stone building. The goblins were small, not much taller than she; but Guin didn't like the shrewd looks on their faces, as though they were plotting something. "Our vault is 614," Mother told the goblin at the desk.  
  
He looked down his nose at the heavy book before him, licking one finger and flicking officiously through the heavy pages. "Hmm, hmm, yes.. Marlowe? All in order," the goblin said, handing them a small golden key, which Angeline slipped into a pocket. "Snagsharp will take you down to the caverns." They were handed over to another goblin, much younger than the elderly creature at the desk. "Go along then," he said indulgently to Snagsharp.  
  
Guin was amused to note that during the entire trip down to the vaults, Angeline's lips were pressed tightly together and there was a distinctly greenish pallor to her cheeks and around her mouth. Guin, on the other hand, made the most of the ride, and had to be ordered to sit down twice. "At times, the stalactites are low enough to take off your head," the goblin said cheerfully, "It's a huge liability and extremely bad publicity. You can decapitate yourself somewhere else, though, if you wish." Suddenly the cart stopped in front of one of the vaults. "614," said Snagsharp, and handed them the key.  
  
Inside the vault was a fair amount of coins, more than Guin had expected to see. They were made in three metals, gold, silver, and what seemed to be bronze. Angeline frowned at them for a moment before choosing mostly gold galleons, depositing them in the bad held by the goblin Snagsharp. "Thank you," Guin said to him, as it seemed Angeline was not about to offer any such pleasantries. The goblin smiled at her in a disconcertingly toothy expression.  
  
Angeline took the bag away and returned to the cart silent on the journey upwards. They left and stood on the stairs, where the woman smiled absently at Guin. "I h ave to meet someone in the Leaky cauldron, why don't you head over to Madam Malkin's and get measured for your school robes? They aren't that expensive, here, take a galleon and count the change…" With one arm clasped around her daughter's shoulder, she led Guin to the shop, commenting, "You've grown! A good thing you need new robes, anyway!"  
  
In Madam Malkin's shop, Guin waited silently in a chair as two boys were measured before her, with the tape dancing of its own accord over their arms as they stood on three-legged stools. One was pallid and nasty looking, and the other had rather messy black hair and deep green eyes. As she didn't recognize either, the girl made no move to approach them. She listened with half-interest to their conversation, and abruptly decided that she did not like the pale boy. He sounded too much like her mother. The dark boy, with hair hiding his forehead, seemed nice enough, though obviously of Muggle birth. As a giant approached the shop, he left, and so did the pale boy. Guin wrinkled her nose at his back, then asked, "What?"  
  
The woman, Malkin, was talking to her. "Just stand up here, dearie." She obliged, standing next to a girl, small and delicate, with an upturned nose, blue eyes, and mousy brown hair. "Hi!" the other girl said cheerfully, holding her arms out to the side as the measuring tape stretched along them. "I'm Rilla, what's your name?" She didn't give Guin time to answer, and continued immediately. "My parents aren't wizards. Muggles, I mean, but they think I'm so lucky to be going to Hogwarts that they're jealous!" She giggled. "Can you believe it? Jealous! Are you Muggle-born, too?"  
  
Guin stared at her for a moment. The bubbly personality was unlike anything she had ever seen, and the outspoken friendliness was alien. Angeline was chilly at best, and the other children at Shadehurst had been nasty and cruel. "I'm.. I'm Guin," she said tentatively, thinking furiously as she did. If Mother saw her talking to this girl, there would be hell to pay – Angeline hated Mudbloods. Abruptly, Guin decided that Hogwarts would not be another Shadehurst, she would have a friend, and she didn't care what Angeline thought. "Yes, it is a bit surprising at first, but you'll get used to it. Any idea what House you'll be in?"  
  
"Well," Rilla said, climbing off the stool with Madam Malkin's help, "From what I've heard, I think I'll probably be in Hufflepuff. I'm really nothing special!" She grinned and watched as Guin also finished, and hopped from the stool to the ground. "I dunno; definitely not Ravenclaw, I can't keep my attention on a book. Gryffindor, maybe, but prolly Hufflepuff. I don't care, I'm just happy to be going to Hogwarts. What house d'you think you'll be in? I bet it's Gryffindor!"  
  
"God, no!" Guin exclaimed, laughing. "My entire family's in Slytherin. They always have been."  
  
"You could always be the first," said Rilla, stubbornly.  
  
"That's it, dears, you can leave it you want," Madam Malkin added.  
  
"See you at Hogwarts!" Rilla called, as her parents arrived to pick her up.  
  
"'Bye," said Guin.  
  
-----  
  
They stood in front of Ollivander's wand shop, Guin with some trepidation and Angeline with her usual serene confidence. "Go on," she said to her daughter, "Nothing to be scared of. He's a bit .. touched .. but harmless, really." She pushed open the door, which tinkled from a small silver bell hung there, and then shut noiselessly behind them. Angeline offered the one chair to Guin, and herself lounged against the wall, completely at home.  
  
Ollivander was not how she had pictured him. Instead of a wise, tall wizard, he was short, pale, and somewhat plump, with pallid eyes sheathed behind wide glasses, which made him take the appearance of a bug. He watched Guin for a moment before throwing a glance towards Angeline. "Mistress Marlowe, welcome back," he said dryly, amused. "Ivory and unicorn hair, was it not? Ten inches?" He was carrying several boxes in his hands, and placed them on a table. "An all-around beauty, perfect for all work." Angeline did not appear disturbed, despite the sharp stare of the old man.  
  
"And you, young Marlowe. Wand arm? Height?" he fired off question after question, and Guin found herself stumbling over the answers to simple questions. Left; five feet; no, she had never broken her arm, and sometimes she wrote with her right hand… Abruptly, an oak length was shoved into her hands. "Go ahead, try it out!" Ollivander demanded, pushing his glasses further up his nose.  
  
Guin held it lightly for a moment, and flicked the thing gently. Nothing. Ollivander shook his head and snatched it away, and was about to hand her another one, of some sort of pale wood that had a glistening sheen to it, when she noticed the wand. It sat half-in, half-out, of its box, a foot long, ebon length of magic. "Could… Could I try that one?" Guin asked hesitantly, causing Mr. Ollivander to blink in surprise and nod, though she noticed his appraisal of her seemed more approving than it had before.  
  
"Certainly. Twelve inches long, ebony and dragon's heartstring," he said, handing it delicately over. It felt right in her hand, fitting snugly in the curve of her palm. Guin raised it and flicked the thing lightly, and sparks flew, crystal-blue and in the shape of flowers. They hung there glowing for a moment before falling apart and dropping to the ground in a wildly shimmering cascade. Ollivander took the wand away from her and boxed it, muttering as he did. "Odd, quite odd. Usually have to give them several.. No one's ever picked the right one.."  
  
"My daughter," said Angeline calmly, "is not your ordinary girl." She looked fondly at her offspring, and paid the shop keeper. 


	4. Sorting

Before she knew it, September first had arrived. She was turning eleven in thirteen days, and term started that afternoon. Sarah buzzed around her room frantically, a kite cut adrift from its strings and floating aimlessly through the clouds. "Everything's here," Guin assured the woman, patting the trunk carefully. It was so stuffed with clothes and books and supplies that Guin had been forced to sit upon the monstrosity, while Sarah struggled with the clasps. Finally, however, the suitcase sat docilely enough on the bed, bulging ominously at the sides.  
  
But how to move it? "Mobilius," whispered Angeline, pretending to pull the trunk along, while in reality it floated a barest half-millimeter from the ground. They made their way to the station in Angeline's black Z3, reserved for those occasions when she needed to travel in the Muggle world. It was a compact car: Sarah was forced to stay at home, for they could barely fit the trunk into the back seat. Angeline lowered the top as they sped along the highway, the wind whipping Guin's hair free of its tie, while her mother's curls floated around her head like a halo.  
  
They breezed easily past the other cars on the lonely stretch of road, but entering London, were forced to slow. Stuck in a particularly complicated jam of vehicles, Angeline took some time to explain what Guinivere should do once they reached the station. "You lean on the railing between platforms nine and ten; make sure you're not seen.." It was not something she stressed about, she had been even younger when she went away to Shadehurst.  
  
The platform at King's Cross was shoved full of people, packed together like sardines, and Guin did not think they could have managed to get through it without Angeline's enchanted trunk. They shoved through, finally reaching the barrier. "Watch a few people before you try—" Angeline began, then hissed quietly. Blinking, Guin saw that the boy from the robe shop, the dark haired one, had just vanished into Platform 9 3/4. Though why that would cause her mother to look so disgusted, Guin did not know. "Goodbye, Guinivere," Angeline said after a moment's pause, kissing the girl lightly on each cheek.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Guin walked, leaned, and just as suddenly was confronted with a scarlet red train. The trunk, still enchanted, pulled easily along as Guin made her way towards the steam engine, lost in thought. Suddenly, shriek made her lose her concentration, as a small, black robed form barreled towards her. It was the girl from Diagon Alley, Rilla. "Guin!" she yelped, delighted. Some heads turned to stare and Guin flushed, looking at the smaller child.  
  
"Hi, Rilla," she said, indicating that the other girl should follow her into the train. Together, the girls managed to fit their trunks into an empty compartment. It took some effort to get Rilla's Muggle suitcase into the overhead storage bin, but they managed after several minute's struggle. Rilla collapsed dramatically on her seat, her hand pressed in a theatrical manner to her forehead. Guin smiled, a barest quirk of the lips.  
  
"Let's go see what some of the others are doing!" Rilla said, and Guin nodded her agreement. Together, they left the compartment, Rilla still speaking. "D' you know that boy we saw in the robe shop?" she whispered. When Guin stopped walking and stared blankly at her, she elaborated. "…The dark one. Guess who he is?"  
  
"The Minister of Magic, apparently," Guin said, laughing, "From the way you're going on!"  
  
"No, that's not it," Rilla continued, "Harry Potter."  
  
"Really?" said Guin, interested in spite of herself. "I didn't know.. S'pose the scar was covered by his hair." That would be the boy Angeline had glared at – now it made sense to Guin, and she sighed softly.  
  
They made their way through the hall, squirming to avoid running into other students and their heavy baggage. Rilla narrowly missed having her foot crushed by a wayward trunk, and spouted off a surprisingly varied vocabulary of curses. Guin looked at her friend in amazement, and more than a touch of amused indulgence. Suddenly, however, she actually did bump into someone, or rather, a pair of someones. "Terribly sorry," said Guin automatically, examining the bushy-haired girl and plump boy.  
  
"Nothing to worry about," he said mournfully.  
  
"What's wrong?" Rilla asked, glancing at the girl.  
  
"Oh, Neville's lost Trevor." Noticing their uncomprehending stares, she grinned, showing a pleasant, buck-toothed smile. "His toad. I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Neville Longbottom."  
  
Guin glanced sideways at Rilla, who was already introducing them. "Rilla Jackson; she's Guin Marlowe. If we see the toad anywhere, we'll find you again, okay?" Neville nodded, looking as though he were about to cry.  
  
Feeling awkward, Guin touched his arm lightly. "He'll turn up," she said, before continuing on her way. "I bet he's a Hufflepuff," she whispered to Rilla, as Hermione and Neville entered another compartment, keeping up the search for the missing Trevor. "Not that's a bad thing—" she started, than cut off as she saw the pale boy from the robe shop. "Oh great, it's Sunshine and Light," she whispered again. "Hi," Guin said warily, as Rilla chattered a cheerful introductory piece.  
  
The boy blinked languidly, then stared at Rilla. "What, your brain doesn't work properly? Have to use your mouth, instead?" He ignored her and turned back to Guin, pallid eyes fixing upon hers. "You look like a decent enough sort," he said sarcastically, "What's your name? Mudblood or wizard?" Behind him, several paces away, was more evidence of de-evolution in process, two boys who looked distinctly ape-like.  
  
"I'm Guinivere Marlowe," she said. "And it's too bad that all the inbreeding between purebloods resulted in a little stain like you."  
  
"Oh, a smart one, are you?" the boy said with a sneer. It seemed to be his usual expression, or at least, one used often. It appeared on his face like clockwork, regular and sure. Unfortunately for him, it made his face look rather rodent like in repose, and Guin fought back a smirk of her own.  
  
"Obviously more intelligent than you, Mister…?"  
  
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I'd suggest, Marlowe, not causing any trouble at Hogwarts." He pushed past them, to be followed by the monkey-ish boys, who seemed to have grown tired of lurking ominously in the corner. It was evident no one was frightened of them, and that made the prowling menace comical instead of scary. Both Guin and Rilla made faces at their retreating backs, but just then, a whistle sounded and the train lurched. They passed Malfoy again, as he walked in the opposite direction. "Your mother'd be ashamed of the company you're keeping, Marlowe."  
  
"Your mother?" Rilla asked as they sat down.  
  
"She doesn't like Muggles very much," Guin said carefully.  
  
A dark head suddenly popped into the compartment, harassed and tired looking. It was a boy, dragging a suitcase, a boy with aristocratic features and gray eyes. Messy black hair with a slight curl to it covered his head, and he had a well-shaped, thin-lipped mouth. Despite the tired look, there was a sardonic gleam in his eyes that reminded Guin entirely too much of herself. "Do you mind if I intrude on your presence? I can't seem to find a space anywhere else," he drawled, executing a small bow.  
  
"No," they said in unison. He sat, smirked, and glanced out the window. Looking back to Guin, he examined her closely for several minutes before speaking. "Is your name Marlowe?"  
  
"Everyone seems to know me," Guin said sadly, "I don't even have time to make a reputation of myself. Yes. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Nothing," he replied, infuriating smirk still on his face.  
  
"What?" Guin demanded, piqued. "You can't ask a question like that and then not answer mine!"  
  
Rilla hid her face in her hands and burrowed deeper into the seats. She had seen Guin's temper in action before. Peering through the screen of her fingers, she was confronted by equally sardonic faces, locked in a duel already. "Don't hurt each other," was all she said, shaking her head sadly. It looked to be the sort of thing that could erupt randomly into violence. They were watching each other as the boy spoke, and Guin's lip twitched upward.  
  
"I can, for I just did," he pointed out.  
  
With a sniff, Guin turned away and stared out the window, watching the countryside streak by in a blur. The boy looked too, and things were quiet, for a time. Suddenly a trio of odious looking heads poked their way into the tiny room. Guin raised an eyebrow, as one of the boys was nursing a bleeding finger. "Shove off, Malfoy, no one wants to see or smell you right now."  
  
He didn't bother to reply, for he and the gray-eyed boy were staring at each other, hatred quite evident on their features. Confused, Guin glanced at Rilla, who whispered, "There's an awful lot of sneering going on today.." She nodded, and watched the scene before her.  
  
"You've moved down in the world, L'Argent," Malfoy said, "Hanging around with Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers."  
  
"Dream your little delusions, Malfoy," L'Argent said cheerfully, "You don't even know why your father hates mine, do you? Bet he was too embarrassed to tell you." Malfoy was rescued from answering: the train stopped and the entire school piled onto the platform at the wizard station. The boats that they clambered into were small, and held only four children. Guin and Rilla were stuck with the boy L'Argent, and another boy who seemed almost as chatty as Rilla. They talked excitedly as Guin and the other boy glared at each other.  
  
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid rumbled, and she said something in reply. Guin couldn't make out what it was, for the other first years were talking in a low buzz, tittering nervously. They were next packed into a tiny chamber, listening to the school talk as they waited for the Sorting. Both Guin and Rilla listened attentively as she gave a rehearsed, canned speech about the different houses, and how points worked.. "Wish she'd get on with it," Guin whispered, earning a sharp glance from McGonagall.  
  
She left, and through the walls came gliding what could only be ghosts. Rilla squeaked and had her arm clasped in a death grip, and Guin extracted it gently. "They won't hurt you. See? Ghosts just go right through things.." Her point was proven as McGonagall returned, waving her hand at the ghosts, moving them along. The ghosts vanished through the next wall as though it didn't exist. Once they were gone, Rilla began to breathe again. "See?" Guin repeated softly.  
  
They were next pushed into the Great Hall, which seemed a scene from a fairy tale. Everything glittered, from candles to stars to faces to ghosts. Guin had known somewhat as to what she should expect, but the reality took her breath away. The ceiling, a length of black velvet with perfect jeweled stars, caught her attention for only a second before she was pushed ahead. All the first years were huddled together, drawing comfort from proximity – however, she saw one orange-headed boy with glasses reading a book, who stood apart from the others.  
  
Guin watched silently as the Hat began to sing – she could only hope to be in Slytherin. Hopehopehope. Not Hufflepuff. Not Hufflepuff. But she wouldn't be Sorted for some time yet; "Abbot, Hannah" was approaching the stool clumsily – "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. With a grin, Guin nudged Rilla with her elbow. "I knew it," she whispered. Next was "Bones, Susan," and Guin whispered again, "I bet you anything she's a Hufflepuff, too."  
  
Sure enough, Bones, Susan, was indeed Sorted into that house. Guin shot a "told-you-so" expression at Rilla, who shrugged. They spent a good quarter of an hour guessing which house the students would be placed in, until the hat called, "Freeman, Winston." The red-haired boy had to be nudged and pointed to the stool, looking annoyed that his reading had been interrupted. Winston Freeman placed the hat on his head, but hardly had it sat there, it yelled, "RAVENCLAW!" The hall erupted into laughter as the boy promptly buried his nose into his book once more.  
  
Finally, McGonagall called, "Jackson, Amarilla," and forward went Rilla, blushing at the use of her full name. She sat for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, before the hat finally pronounced, "GRYFFINDOR!" Guin clapped and cheered with the rest, though a little disappointed that she and her friend would not likely be in the same house. Rilla took off the hat, looking surprised, and walked to the Gryffindor table.  
  
Lost in thought, Guin lost track of things again until "L'Argent, Mikael," was called. So that was the gray-eyed boy's name. He moved forward with a smirk, placing the hat calmly on his head. "SLYTHERIN," the hat said after a second's pause. Mikael handed the hat to Longbottom, Neville. Guin couldn't help but snicker at the name, though she hoped that he'd found his toad.  
  
Malfoy, Draco, was a Slytherin, but that was no surprise. "Muggle-lover," he whispered, as Marlowe, Guinivere, approached the stool. Ignoring him, she put on the hat, staring at the blackness that appeared in front of her. She wasn't nervous, but the hat smelled slightly of mothballs.  
  
"Hmm," said the hat thoughtfully, "Interesting; very nice. Ambition, lots of ambition, and courage.. Oh yes. Bravery galore. Intelligent, too. Not hard-working enough for Hufflepuff, and not intellectual enough for Ravenclaw – Gryffindor, perhaps?"  
  
Not Gryffindor! she thought frantically.  
  
"Not Gryffindor, eh? Slytherin will suit you well, then. You'll fit right into SLYTHERIN." The voice boomed out in the hall, and Guin removed the hat and smiled. 


	5. Settle

Chapter 5: Settle  
Guin handed the hat to a short Korean boy named Moon, bowing lightly as the Slytherins applauded. She was forced into a seat next to Mikael L'Argent, who smirked sideways at her. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" he inquired. Guin surveyed him silently for several seconds before she spoke. "I have masochistic tendencies," she said sadly, "to some extent. They force me to sit near egotistical fools." To her surprise, he laughed, gray eyes crinkling in a grin.  
  
"Very good, Marlowe. You're not afraid to answer back."  
  
"Afraid, L'Argent? Of you? You look like a puppy dog." And he did. The wide eyes and sweet features, combined with tousled hair, gave the boy the appearance of an innocent, tiny canine. With a sigh, Guin looked across the room and caught Rilla's – Amarilla's – eye. Rilla winked, than pointed at L'Argent and smirked, making a face. Guin nodded to her in sad agreement, before McGonagall's voice occupied her full attention.  
  
"Potter, Harry!"  
  
"The Harry Potter?" whispered a thin, florid Hufflepuff.  
  
All around them people were buzzing excitedly as the pale-faced boy moved towards the Sorting Hat, almost as if in a trance. Guin could barely make out the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead; he shook his head as though steeling himself, and took the hat resolutely. It sat on his head for barely a second before yelling, "GRYFFINDOR!" That table erupted into cheers, along with the rest of the school – except for the Slytherins. They were notably silent.  
  
Defiantly Guin clapped along with the rest of them, after a moment joined by L'Argent – she looked at him, shocked, and received a grin in return. "We got Potter! We got Potter!" yelled the two redheaded twins – Weasleys, she supposed. They had the look about them. Potter walked to the Gryffindor table, looking surprised as well, where another red haired boy shook his hand. The Slytherins, in majority, rolled their eyes and ignored him. The number of children left was gradually winding down, culminating in Zabini, Blaise, who was a Slytherin.  
  
Finally! They'd be eating soon. "Welcome," said Dumbledore, standing with a beatific smile on his gnarled features. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words—" ("Oh, no, I'm starving!" moaned Blaise Zabini,) "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you," he said placidly, taking his seat. ("At least it was short!" exclaimed Blaise.)  
  
Food appeared on their plates, which appeared to be solid gold. Guin ran a fingernail experimentally along the rim, but it did not scratch. So much to choose from; in the end, Guin piled her plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, and French bread. It was wonderful – better than what the servants made at home. Especially Sarah: her food was either lumpy, peppery, or tasted vaguely of fish. L'Argent echoed her thoughts aloud. "Mother's food can't compare."  
  
Across the table, Malfoy sat next to the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The Baron sat stiffly for several moments before rising and floating away. Malfoy relaxed and scowled at the other boy. "No one asked you, L'Argent," he stated, eyes narrowing. Again, L'Argent smiled mirthlessly, lips drawing away from his teeth. "Malfoy, you miserable worm," he said softly, "I'm warning you. Leave me alone."  
  
Surprisingly enough, Malfoy did just that. Guin shrugged and began to eat her dinner again, slowly, enjoying it. "My da knew yours, in school," L'Argent whispered to her. Surprised, she spit out her piece of chicken: it landed on Malfoy, who looked furious, but he didn't say anything. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared at him.  
  
"My da's dead," Guin whispered.  
  
"I know. But they were both Slytherins. Ask you mother," and for some reason, his voice was suddenly bitter, "If she remembers Jack L'Argent." Grinning toothily at Malfoy, who was flicking a piece of chicken from his sleeve, he said, "Your da should remember that name, too. And Aviva Greenburn, as well."  
  
"Ahem," said Dumbledore, just as they were finishing dessert, "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." Guin watched as he folded his hands before him, gaze encompassing them all. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Guin noticed he glanced at the Weasley twins, who looked back at him innocently.  
  
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." He explained about Quidditch trials, which she didn't need to worry about anyway. Maybe second year, I'll try, thought Guin, as Dumbledore concluded. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."  
  
Some people laughed. "Idiots," Guin murmured before the entire school burst into song. She whispered the words along, but did not sing. Finally, they finished and the Slytherin prefect stood and waved his hand at them. "Come on, kiddies, it's beddy-time," he said, not unkindly. They trotted obediently after: despite the fact that Guin's eyelids were growing heavier, she took careful notice of the route they followed. No need to get lost, not when it was all explained now.  
  
They moved down several staircases, underneath tapestries and behind panels, moving into the marble heart of the Hogwarts underworld, cool and dank. The prefect finally stopped in front of what appeared to be a bare stretch of wall, and said loudly, so that they could all hear, "Reptilius." The wall opened obligingly, and admitted them into the common room. It was majestic, in a cold sort of way, with its own warmth. Torches flared green flame around the walls, but she didn't notice: trudging upwards to the bedroom for first year girls, Guin yawned mightily. She was asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillow.  
  
-----  
  
Hogwarts, Guin found, as nothing like Shadehurst. Understandably she was quite pleased to find this, but the comparisons were still somewhat shocking. Many of the Slytherins reminded her unpleasantly of the Shadehurst children, but some were nice enough. Blaise Zabini, for one, was friendly and almost seemed as though she should have been placed in another house; she was benevolent to everyone but close friends with none. Most of the others seemed to be either afraid of Guin or snubbed her, but Blaise was pleasant and L'Argent went out of his way to bother her, or so it seemed. "Your magnetic personality," was his cheerful response to inquiries on his actions.  
  
Rilla was absorbed into Gryffindor house easily and instantaneously. Guin, who had never before had a friend, was quite prepared to spend an evening or two moping around feeling martyred and abandoned, but this was not to be. Rilla made every effort to continue what had begun in Diagon Alley, and Guin was surprised to see that she, the ice child incarnate, was pleased. Together they explored Hogwarts in the time not spent in classes, haunting the library or a small abandoned chamber discovered one rainy afternoon.  
  
The ghosts fascinated Guin, and she went out of her way to observe them. "I wonder why they stayed, but others disappeared?" she mused. The answer was found in a heavy library book – unfinished business, it said. "I know what Nearly Headless Nick's unfinished business was," giggled Rilla, pointing as the ghost flipped his head to the side at the request of some wide-eyed first years. He looked quite exasperated and stalked off in a high temper.  
  
Classes had already begun, but the workload was light. The air, though crisper, still permitted extended amounts of time to be spent outside, so Rilla and Guin prowled the grounds. "So, how's the legendary Gryffindor house treating you?" drawled Guin, glancing down at the petite, curly-headed girl. A gust of wind stirred the crinkling trees, sending swirls of red-orange leaves flying around them in a cloud of autumn colors.  
  
"They're all so nice," Rilla said, looking a bit sad. "It's somewhat boring, really."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Well, yes," Rilla grinned, showing her teeth. "It's wonderful. There's always something going on in the Common Rooms; the Weasley twins are so funny! And I've read all about Harry Potter. With a legacy like that you'd think he'd have a swelled head, but he doesn't." She kicked lightly at a leaf that skirled by. "I was put in the right house, I think. McGonagall's fair; the first-year girls are a little silly, but not bad sorts. How are you, Guin?" the tone was concerned. "The other first-years don't seem particularly.. pleasant."  
  
"It's not so bad," Guin replied, "Malfoy's an ass, Crabbe and Goyle don't have enough brains between them to fill a pickle jar, and Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson are, well, witches." She shrugged. "I knew Pansy's older sister at Shadehurst. She was held back a year." Guin grinned wickedly. "And L'Argent is.. well.. L'Argent." They paused, and Guin glanced back at the castle-school. "We should prob'ly start heading back.. I have Transfiguration in a quarter of an hour."  
  
"Ugh, I've got History of magic," Rilla groaned, shaking her head. Everyone hated History, which was taught by a ghost. Professor Binns was as deathly dull as one could expect a phantom to be, and worse, but Guin found that she rather liked the class. History, though quite boring as presented by Professor Binns, was really fascinating. Better than an adventure story, almost. "Better hurry," Rilla said, "I think we're running a bit late."  
  
They set off at a faster trot, moving in separate directions once they reached the Great Hall. "See you later, Guin!" called Rilla, as she disappeared up the stairs. Guin stopped at the common rooms for her books, than ran all the way to the Transfiguration class. She arrived just as the hell announcing the start of class chimed loudly. Pansy whispered a snide remark to Millicent about people who were too noble and good to show up to class on time – it was a load of nonsense; Guin ignored her and slipped into a seat next to Blaise.  
  
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Miss Marlowe, as class has not yet begun, I will take no points from Slytherin. However, I suggest that you take the art of punctuality more seriously in the future." With that said, she sat behind her desk and introduced the course. Malfoy had been bragging about how wonderful he'd be at Transfiguration, though from what McGonagall was saying, it sounded more difficult than he made it out to be.  
  
They were supposed to be turning matchsticks into needles, though by the end of the class no one had managed satisfactorily. Guin's match was rather sharp on one end, as she whispered to Blaise: "If there's any miniature vampires around here, we're set." To her great gratification, Malfoy had not been able to transfigure his match in the least, though L'Argent was now the "proud" owner of a solid silver matchstick.  
  
"Admirable, L'Argent," said McGonagall, with only a touch of dry sarcasm, before dismissing the class. "We'll try again next time." Guin pricked her finger on the sharpened edge of the match, and winced, sucking crimson blood from the wound.  
  
-----  
  
"L'Argent, what are you reading?" Guin demanded gleefully, snatching the book from his hand and examining the title with disbelief. "The Hardy Boys?"  
  
"I thought it would be beneficial to read Muggle literature—"  
  
"There's plenty of decent Muggle literature, and that doesn't qualify, I'm sorry. The Hardy Boys?"  
  
"Yes," L'Argent said resignedly.  
  
"I can't believe it."  
  
"It's true."  
  
"You were reading the Hardy Boys! What are you, a child detective? Going to find the Chamber of Secrets?"  
  
"I know. I'm so ashamed."  
  
"I'm not going to let you forget this, L'Argent."  
  
"I should have known."  
  
The verbal sparring with L'Argent wasn't friendly, but it wasn't quite enmity, either. It did, however, add a certain spice to life. The tousle-headed boy possessed a sense of humor much the same as hers – witty, wounding, and sarcastic. She might, Guin though, have even liked him, if he wasn't so similar to herself. And so obnoxious, of course. Today, L'Argent walked by and tapped her lightly on the arm, startling the girl into a yelp. "Napping, Marlowe dearest?" he wanted to know, "Wake up, we have double Potions with the Gryffindors today."  
  
"Piss off, L'Argent," she said, standing and gathering together her cauldron and basic potion ingredients. A class with Rilla! That would be fun, even if the teacher was Snape. He was nicer to the Slytherins than he was to any of the other houses, but even to them he was sharp and almost intolerant. It wasn't a far walk to the dungeons, since the Common Room was but a few halls down. It was a disconcerting room, until you got used to the ghastly green jars with bits of animal and human parts suspended in them.  
  
Rilla had arrived early to save her a seat. Snape raised his eyebrows at them as Guin sat down next to her, but said nothing. She watched as the other students filtered in: Harry Potter and his friend Ron, and Hermione Granger, who greeted them civilly and sat down with an Indian girl named Parvati: Potter was who interested her, though, and she eyed him covertly – he looked just like anyone else, to her. The scar, of course, but besides that.. Nothing extraordinary. When everyone was seated, Snape began role-call, stopping when he reached her name.  
  
"Guinivere Marlowe. I knew your mother – Ministry witch, isn't she?"  
  
"Experimental Charms. Sir."  
  
He nodded and paused again. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity." Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy all sniggered dutifully, though Guin raised her brows and glanced sideways at Rilla. This was perhaps going a bit beyond what a teacher should. They both managed to sit in silence as Snape continued to pick on Potter, who was looking more annoyed as the minutes wore on – he finally snapped and gave a faintly sarcastic answer, to the growing rage of the Potions master.  
  
"Ew, this is disgusting," Rilla complained, as they carefully stewed their horned slugs.  
  
"I wonder how he knows my mother.." Guin muttered. 


	6. Flying

Guin had been on broomsticks before. For her sixth birthday, Angeline had bought her one of the toy models that catered to wizard parents everywhere ("Fail-safe! Only a foot off the ground!") as a gift, and Guin had spent many the happy hour skimming over the tips of the grasses, trailing her feet in them as she pushed the speed of the broom as fast as it would go. And they didn't go very fast, either – that was supposedly another one of the safety features built into each of Caspian's Kiddy Rides. Later, she had her own real broomstick, a Cleansweep Seven, which she flew over the secluded grounds of Marlowe's Nook.  
  
However, the twenty or so broomsticks lined up before her on the lawn of the Hogwarts front lawn were a different story all together. They were old, and rickety looking – some were Shooting Stars, a make that had gone out of manufacture years ago. She did not relish making a fool of herself, in front of the other Slytherins or in front of the Gryffindors, who were just now arriving. Malfoy and Potter were glaring at each other already. Guin sighed, rolled her eyes, and glanced sideways, and the ever-present messy head of L'Argent.  
  
"Do you ever go away?" Guin wanted to know.  
  
"I'm like a bad penny," L'Argent replied, "…Though what exactly a bad penny is, I'm not sure."  
  
"Oh, so you don't know what you are? Don't worry, I can tell you. You're a pain in the rear."  
  
"I can always count on you, dearest Marlowe, to salvage my wounded ego."  
  
"Your ego doesn't need salvaging, L'Argent. There's more than enough of it already."  
  
He sighed and clasped his hands to his chest. "Ouch. See, see there? It hurts. Ouch, ow," he said, staggering dramatically.  
  
"What, have you taken to drinking butterbeer before flying class? Not one of your brighter ideas, L'Argent."  
  
"I'm allowed to have bright ideas?" he asked, "As opposed to, what, dark ones? Shadowy ideas here, folks, gettcher shadowy ideas.."  
  
"I hope you fall off your broom," she told him seriously.  
  
"Of course I will. Can't disappoint your high expectations, can I?"  
  
"I didn't know you had a girlfriend, L'Argent," Malfoy said nastily.  
  
"Oh! Her?" L'Argent asked innocently, squinting at Guin as though he hadn't seen her before. She sighed and subjected herself to his scrutiny; on a whim twirling around like a model on a catwalk. "She's not my girlfriend, Malfoy. She is, in, oh, say… Five, ten minutes? She's going to be my attempted murderer."  
  
"Only attempted?" Guin scoffed, mock-affronted.  
  
"Sorry, make that a successful murderer, then," L'Argent returned placidly.  
  
Any further comment on Malfoy's part was interrupted by the arrival of Madam Hooch, a stocky witch with disconcertingly yellow eyes and gunmetal-gray hair, which, coupled with a blunt, square chin gave her the look of a Bludger. She looked at the Slytherins and Gryffindors, staring sulkily at each other, and snapped, "Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Arms crossed over her chest, she watched as they scrambled to follow the instructions.  
  
Guin chose the best broom she could find, which unfortunately was not saying much. It was rather ragged and forlorn looking, as though it had given up the ghost long ago and was merely waiting to be destroyed. Rilla joined her, shaking her head. "When I was told we'd be learning how to fly broomsticks, I expected something.. er.. a bit more impressive." Guin could only nod in agreement. Madam Hooch instructed them to hold out their right hands, but she supposed that, being left handed, her dominant grip would suffice instead.  
  
"UP!" she and Rilla shouted. Rilla's broom didn't move; Guin's leaped obediently into her palm. Neville Longbottom, the clumsy, pudgy Gryffindor, looked nervously at his, though it made no hint at motion. L'Argent was also holding his broom carefully, it had obliged somewhat slower than Guin's. Out of the corner of her eye, Guin noted that Harry Potter was also clutching his broom; together they made a core of those who had finished correctly. Most of the other brooms rolled around on the ground, and one, stubbornly, inched away from Crabbe.  
  
Madam Hooch explained the correct way to mount a broom. Guin slid onto the end, watching those of Muggle birth struggle to stay atop the stick without falling off onto the ground. She hid her mouth in her hand and snickered softly, shaking her head. "Okay there, Rilla?" she wanted to know, watching her friend clutch onto the broomstick for dear life. Rilla nodded grimly and looked ahead, watching the teacher for further instruction. After making sure that everyone was settled, she prowled through the rows and corrected. "Wrong, Malfoy; wrong! Your hands are placed in a weak position… Wrong for years, from the looks of it."  
  
Potter and Weasley looked delighted. So, she reflected, did L'Argent.  
  
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –" Oh, no. Guin winced as she saw Neville shove from the ground and shoot upwards. He was rising steadily before he fell, maybe thirty-five feet in the air. Guin couldn't take her eyes away, though she wanted to hide them – it was a split second before he hit the ground, though in that time she thought wildly that it would be quite difficult to clean little bits of Neville from the ground.  
  
However, much to her relief, he didn't squish upon impact. Instead, there was a succession of loud noises that were quite unpleasant and made several people wince, culminating in a crack. Neville moaned softly in the grass as his broom flew off into the sunset – namely, the Forbidden Forest. "Broken wrist," Madam Hooch said as she examined him, worried and pale, "Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get. None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say, 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."  
  
They left. "Sad," L'Argent said, and he really did sound regretful. Maybe more so about being forced to put the broom down than the fact that Neville had just broken his arm, but it really was hard to tell. Guin found herself eyeing her own flying implement impatiently, waiting for Madam Hooch to return so that they'd be able to fly… It wasn't like Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix broken arms in seconds.. There was a commotion, and Rilla yelped in surprise.  
  
She and L'Argent looked up at the same time, to see Potter and Malfoy on their broomsticks, facing each other in the air. Something glittered red in Malfoy's hand, but she couldn't make out what it was. The two were yelling at each other – "Civilized, isn't it?" L'Argent commented, gray eyes focused on the battle of the brooms.  
  
Next Malfoy dropped whatever it was, and Potter zoomed on a downward arc, as though he was a Quidditch player, and the thing was a tiny red Snitch. He caught it before it broke on the ground, tumbled off his broom, and – "HARRY POTTER!" It was McGonagall. Oh, he's in for it now, Guin thought, without malice. "Never – in all my time at Hogwarts— how dare you – might have broken your neck –"   
  
The various Gryffindors argued, but McGonagall marched Potter off, practically dragging the poor boy by the ear. "He didn't even last a month," she mused aloud to Rilla.  
  
"That's the spirit, Marlowe," said Malfoy, "And here I thought you weren't a real Slytherin – seems like you've got the attitude after all?"  
  
"It wasn't an insult, Malfoy, which you would have realized if you'd bothered to use the undersized pea that serves you as a brain," Guin said, folding her arms over her chest, "It was an observation."  
  
"Oh, an observation, is it? You really should've been a Gryffindor, Marlowe, and then we wouldn't have to put up with your crap."  
  
"I'm going to start crying, in a moment," Guin told Rilla, "Draco Malfoy doesn't want me to be a Slytherin! Hold me," she said dramatically, throwing her arms out at L'Argent, "My heart is shattered."  
  
He flushed and grinned at her. "Dearest Marlowe, you know I love you, but isn't this a bit sudden?"  
  
"Back to your brooms," barked Madam Hooch, appearing from somewhere behind them. "Longbottom should be fine, Madam Pomfrey fixed his arm nicely. He's resting, and we have a lesson to continue. Re-mount, and I shall check your grip again. Once I am finished, you'll be allowed to fly upward – and wait for my whistle this time!" Keen yellow eyes dared them to do otherwise.  
  
On the broom, Guin forgot instantly about Neville. There was only the air and herself, flying free – "Marlowe! We've had enough theatrics today, back down here, now!" Sheepishly Guin returned to earth; the other students had been called back several minutes ago, and only she had still remained above ground. Malfoy rolled his eyes at her, but Rilla nodded admiringly.  
  
"I wish I was that good!" she said wistfully.  
  
Class finished and the students dispersed, chattering about the Fall of Neville, as it was already being termed. "That was interesting," Rilla said lazily, glancing over her shoulder at Madam Hooch, who was busy picking up the various brooms where the students had thrown them. "I'm just glad I didn't fall, like Neville, I would have been so embarrassed! Horrible, really. He's such a klutz, but I suppose he really can't help it…" Rilla's steady stream of talk washed over her, she half-listened. Something else, however, caught her attention. It was a pained mewing noise.  
  
"What's that?" she demanded suddenly.  
  
"What's what?"  
  
"I heard something.. Sounded like a cat."  
  
"Oh! Yes! It sounds.. over there," Rilla said, and pointed to a bush.  
  
Huddled underneath it was a small gray striped form, a kitten so undernourished that it somewhat resembled a mouse. It was a tabby, from the looks of it, dark stormy ashen hues with lines of a lighter cloudy shade. Its front paws were pure white, and the eyes were the wonderful green-hazel of a cat, complete with slit pupils and shining inner light. Scars decorated the feline's back, it's left paw hung limply, broken, and Guin was reminded of the animal she had rescued at Shadehurst. "Poor thing," she murmured, reaching out to touch the cat.  
  
It hissed and batted its paw feebly at her, warding the tentative hand away. "Stupid git!" Guin exclaimed, "Honest, I'm trying to help—" The kitten surveyed her silently for a few moments, all delicate pink trefoil nose and dainty paws, and drew back its lip, as though deciding whether or not to bite the pale hand invading its space. Surprisingly, it didn't, and lay still while letting Guin lift it into the air, cradling the injured animal carefully against her chest.  
  
"Mew," said the kitten, for all the world as innocent as a newborn – it would never bite its owner, oh no, that was for the uncivilized alley cats. "Mew!" she exclaimed, a touch more emphatically.  
  
"You need to name her," Rilla spoke up.  
  
"Name her? I'm not good at thinking up names.. You name her, Ril."  
  
"How about Liadan?" Rilla suggested; "It means 'gray lady.'"  
  
"I like it," Guin said, patting Liadan lightly on the head. "Right, let's go see if Madam Pomfrey can fix up her cuts and her leg.. 


	7. Halloween

Breakfast was one of Guin's least favorite times of the day, for it was when she was forced to sit with the other Slytherins. Granted, there were several that she liked, and even talked to, but the rest made the experience not worth its while. Malfoy made life miserable for everyone, even the other Slyths. His oafish minions, Crabbe and Goyle, were too stupid to be of a bother in general, though a fist in the stomach could greatly impede enjoyment of the breakfasting hour. Luckily they usually confined aggressive tendencies to the Gryffindors, and it was only Malfoy that was the problem.  
  
Today, they wolfed down eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Guin poked at her food, which was rapidly growing cold. For some reason she wasn't very hungry today, and the heavy fare served by the house elves held no appeal. As usual, a whooshing, fluttering, and hooting heralded the arrival of the owls. Guin had no bird of her own, Liadan was more than enough. The tiny kitten was, at the moment, prowling underneath the table and attempting to cut Malfoy's ankles to shreds. His yelps of protest caused Guin to snicker, momentarily diverted.  
  
"Something wrong, Malfoy?" she asked lazily.  
  
"Your bloody kitten's trying to rip my socks off!" he growled, aiming a kick at Liadan, who hissed and redoubled her attack. A thump announced that his foot had connected with Lia's skinny body, and a sharp mew told her pain.  
  
"Liadan! Here!" Guin ordered, glaring at Malfoy. "What, you haven't tortured people enough today, you have to hurt the animals, too?" Liadan leaped into Guin's lap and shot a dirty look at the pale-haired boy, growling low in her throat.  
  
L'Argent's owl, Kerwin, careened into the room and buffeted Malfoy on the head before dropping off a small package, which quite unfortunately spattered eggs all over Christian Nott's robes. The avian was smaller than Malfoy's eagle owl, a compact creature that had more of a hawkish look about him than anything. Nott brushed egg irritably away, flicking bits of yellow from his shirt. L'Argent ignored him and opened the package carefully, pulling apart the twine that bound it shut. His face lit up as he lifted up a small notebook, and a letter accompanied by a picture.  
  
"What's that?" Guin asked, curious despite herself.  
  
"Letter and sketchbook from my Uncle Henry," L'Argent replied absently, scanning the letter. Oddly enough, his voice lacked any sarcasm whatsoever.  
  
Guin peered at the picture over his shoulder. It showed a dark-haired couple, smiling and waving, and a blond-haired man who looked oddly familiar to her. Dark brown eyes glittered cheerfully as he watched the boy – she supposed that was Uncle Henry. Now she remembered – someone very much like the man in the picture had been in the Leaky Cauldron, the day she visited Diagon Alley. "Lives in London, does he?" she asked, watching the picture as it stared back.  
  
"No, but he was there over the summer, said he was meeting someone—" L'Argent broke off abruptly and eyed her with a disbelieving expression. "D' you know, Marlowe, we actually exchanged several sentences that didn't contain insults?"  
  
"I hadn't noticed."  
  
She finished her breakfast, which was quite icy.  
  
-----  
  
Guin recited the list of complicated potion ingredients, staring at the wall as she did so. Perhaps if she focused on the walls, she could ignore the glares directed in her general area by most of the Gryffindor students. Snape nodded approvingly, and then snapped at the scowling students, "Well? Are you listening? Copy that down! Marlowe knows what she's talking about." Wonderful, Snape, though Guin bitterly, a fat lot of good that'll do me. If anything, the glowering intensified. She sighed and finished.  
  
"What's worse?" Rilla whispered, "Having Snape like you, or dislike you?"  
  
Potions, however, was the least of her worries, for several events were fast approaching. One was the Halloween feast, and also, the beginning of the Quidditch season. It was rumored that the Gryffindors had a new Seeker, though Rilla would not tell her who it was. She merely looked mysterious and slightly smug, prompting Guin to roll her eyes in that special way which only near teenagers can manage. "You're being immature, Ril.. It's not like my knowing will make any difference in the outcome of the game."  
  
"Can't tell, I'm sworn to secrecy."  
  
But word got out eventually, and Rilla was able to look smug that she was not the one to let the secret slip. "You could have told me it was Potter," Guin said, aggravated, "It wasn't that big of a deal!"  
  
In Transfiguration, they continued work on the matchsticks, and Guin was quite pleased to find that, after an initial shaky start, she began to get the hang of things. Rilla, surprisingly enough, after an equally slow start, hopped to the front of the class, surpassed only by Hermione Granger. "But," as Rilla was wont to say, "She's best at everything if it can be learned from a book. No use trying to be better than /her/." By the end of the second lesson, Rilla could change the matchstick to a needle in a snap, and was awarded ten points to Gryffindor.  
  
"Wonderful!" Guin said, slapping her friend on the back, and accidentally causing Rilla to lose control of her wand and magic large purple splotches onto Malfoy's face. McGonagall, face twitching in an admirable effort to hide a grin, removed them, much to the girls' disgust.  
  
"I wonder if I could learn to do that on purpose?" Rilla wondered.  
  
Halloween had arrived before they knew it, and along with the holiday came Rilla's eleventh birthday. The Muggle-born girl was one of the youngest in their year, but shrugged it off. "When you're ninety, I'll be eighty-nine for.. er.. A couple more days, at least." They trudged to the hall, which was decorated to what could only be termed an extreme.  
  
Black, thin shapes usually seen only at night fluttered spookily across the ceiling: bats. Some of the first-year girls shrieked and covered their heads, prompting Guin and Rilla to share a quiet roll of the eyes. "They're going to get in my hair!" squeaked Pansy Parkinson, clutching Draco Malfoy around the neck. Guin assumed that she was attempting to hug him, though the end result was closer to strangulation. Large orange pumpkins leered unpleasantly, and Guin had a nasty suspicion that the carvings in the vegetables moved into new expressions every now and then.  
  
Guin and L'Argent were fighting over the rights to a particularly appetizing piece of bread when Professor Quirrell staggered into the hall and collapsed dramatically onto the staff table. Guin let go of the bread, causing L'Argent to tumble backward with the sudden release of tension, and stared at the distraught teacher. "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know." With the loose flopping of limbs that comes only with loss of consciousness, Quirrell fainted.  
  
People immediately began yelling and screaming, much to Guin's disdain. Pansy Parkinson dissolved into tears on Malfoy's robes, causing him to push at her bad-temperedly. She was not to be deterred, however, and soon had him in a chokehold once more. L'Argent sniggered uncontrollably at the sight, and all was a pleasant sort of chaos and pandemonium for several moments until Dumbledore exploded several bright firecrackers. "Prefects! Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"  
  
Pansy was forced to release Malfoy, who gasped like a beached whale until the Slytherin prefect slapped him on the back of the head to clear his senses. L'Argent was gasping also, though with suppressed laughter. Guin sighed and poked him in the stomach. "Come on," she said, annoyed. Most of the other students were streaming through the doorways in a mindless panic, and she tugged L'Argent's arm to force him to hurry up.  
  
They had lost contact with the main body of their House, who were now turning into another hallway. L'Argent twisted out of her grasp, rubbing his arm thoughtfully for a moment. Reflexively the two children moved sideways to stand against the wall, out of the way of the crowd. "You know," L'Argent said, "It would be a shame to miss on an opportunity like this.." A slightly wicked gleam appeared in his eyes as he glanced sideways at Guin. "Are you up for it, Marlowe?"  
  
"Up for what?" she asked, though an idea was already forming in her head.  
  
"You heard what Dumbledore said at the beginning of term, right?"  
  
"I assume you're not talking about 'nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak,' are you?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"So.. that must mean the out-of-bounds third floor corridor, mm?"  
  
"Now you're using your brain. Your mummy would be quite proud."  
  
"I'm game." There was no way in hell she was going to let L'Argent go on an adventure like this without her. She was quite sure that he'd never let her forget it.  
  
Stealthily, they made sure that no one was looking before slipping into the next hallway. In utter silence Guin and L'Argent walked up several sets of stairs and towards the corridor, keeping whatever nervousness either felt hidden. Guin was surprised to find that actually she wasn't scared at all, but excited – a small rush of adrenaline made her alert and wary, eager to see what they could find. The Charms hallway looked deserted at first, but then – footsteps!  
  
"Quick!" Guin hissed, and frantically, they dove into the beginning of another hall.  
  
Ears straining, they could hear the sound of footsteps, and then a voice said, "Alohomora!" They stared at each other, shocked – it was Snape's voice, right down to the annoyed snap. There was the sound of a door swinging open, than shut, and then.. Guin fancied that she could hear a growl, a bitten of shriek, and then the noises of a door opening and slamming shut quickly, and then Snape limped away, muttering curses. Sweating, the two hidden children waited until the footsteps faded into nothingness, before slipping out of their hidden vantage point.  
  
"That," L'Argent murmured fervently, "Was too weird."  
  
"Yeah.." Guin said, frowning at the door. "I wonder what's in there?"  
  
"Only one way to find out.. Will you do the honors?"  
  
"Alohomora!" Guin whispered, pointing her wand at the lock.  
  
They didn't go in, they only looked; after the sound of Snape's limping Guin and L'Argent were inclined to be slightly more wary. And, they saw instantly, there was good reason, too. Confronting them in the darkened hall was a gigantic, three-headed dog. "Cerberus!" Guin whispered, shocked, as the thing glared malevolently at them with reddened eyes, its mouth a slavering hole of gaping teeth and an overbite that would have put an orthodontist to shame. It stood atop a trap door; it growled at them, and started forward.  
  
"I think," said L'Argent weakly, "That we should close the door."  
  
And they did, backing away hurriedly. Two sets of footsteps, one the now-distinct limp of Snape, and the other an uneasy shuffle, interrupted their thoughts and they dived back into the hallway. "I d-don't k-k-now w-what you're t-talking about, S-severus.. I was j-just m-making s-s-sure that the t-troll d-didn't sh-show up h-here.." The stuttering voice could only be Quirrell. He sounded terrified.  
  
"You recovered from that faint rather quickly, didn't you?" Snape asked nastily, though his voice was taut with pain, "And what a coincidence, Quirrell, that you decided to check the third floor corridor, which, might I add, is off-limits for certain, rather secret reasons?"  
  
"Y-you're c-crazy, S-severus," Quirrell stuttered. "The t-troll's n-not here, let's g-get b-back t-to the s-staff r-room.."  
  
They walked, or, in Snape's case, limped away, and Guin and L'Argent were able to breathe again. For a moment, they stood there weakly, hands shaking, before a thought occurred to both at the same time. Guin looked at L'Argent and her eyes widened. "If Snape gets back to the Common Rooms before us.." She trailed off.  
  
"We're so dead," L'Argent finished. In perfect concert and silent agreement, the two children ran as fast as they could back to the Dungeons, and the Slytherin Commons. Along the way they faced several close calls: there was a commotion happening in one of the bathrooms, it seemed, and Guin could vaguely make out Professor McGonagall yelling at someone, but they bypassed the area and continued on their way, completely out of breath but not daring to slow.  
  
Guin had never been so glad to see the bare face of a wall before. "Anaconda!" she gasped, and they stumbled into the room, to the curious stares of the Slytherins still remaining there. Malfoy took one look at their flushed faces, and snorted softly. "What a darling couple you make," he drawled. Unfortunately, Guin was too busy attempting to breathe, and was unable to answer. 


	8. Defeat

The Slytherin team, led by Marcus Flint, were utterly confident in their ability to win the upcoming Quidditch match against Gryffindor. "So what if they've got some Wonderboy first year on their team? The Gryffindors are washed up! Wood's a fanatic! We can smash them." The Common Room erupted into cheers, and Guin clapped appreciatively. Malfoy in particular was acting smug; he seemed to have an irrational hatred of Potter, and looked forward to seeing him humiliated in front of the whole school. Many of the Slytherins seemed to enjoy cornering Potter in the hallways and telling him they'd be laughing when he broke all of his limbs. Guin, for one, thought it was very childish, and said nothing.  
  
Guin and L'Argent found out exactly what the commotion had been on Halloween. Apparently, Potter and the youngest Weasley had locked the troll in a bathroom, which was unfortunately occupied by Hermione Granger. They had knocked the thing out, though the teachers had caught them. With a sigh of relief, Guin realized exactly how close she had come to being in quite a bit of trouble. The three-headed dog, if it was indeed Cerberus, was pushed to the back of her mind as she concentrated on classes and keeping warm.  
  
Guin was not at all fond of the cold, and it was a particularly chilly November. Icy blasts of wind wracked through the entrance hall, and Snape's class was positively drafty. She took to wearing at least two layers; a sweatshirt and underneath her robes, sometimes accompanied by a scarf. L'Argent mocked her mercilessly, and Guin gave him her haughtiest glare in reply. She wasn't sure if he grew tired of making fun of the clothes ("You look like an Eskimo.") or if the glower had managed to cow him into submission, but was grateful for the respite.  
  
Around ten forty-five, the Slytherins trooped up to the Quidditch field, many of them dressed in green. Guin searched for a good seat, and ended up in the next-highest row, in front of Neville, Hermione, and Ron Weasley. Ron glared at her, noting the Slytherin emblem pinned on her robe, but Guin shrugged and took her place in between Rilla and L'Argent. "One comment about the scarf," she warned him, "And they'll find bits of your innards on top of the Quidditch goalpost."  
  
Surprisingly, L'Argent had turned out to be a decent artist – no, he was an excellent artist. The boy had drawn on a huge sheet the rearing sinuous form of the Slytherin Serpent. The Gryffindors' banner, she saw, flashed different colors – they had one-upped the Slytherins; but no matter. Guin was quite confident that their team would win. Settling into a seat next to Rilla, she glanced down at the field. "They should be starting soon, shouldn't they?" Indeed, Madam Hooch was making her way out onto the Quidditch arena, followed by a clump of people in scarlet and a clump of people in virulent green.  
  
She seemed to be talking to them, but the words Guin could not make out. Leaning forward in her seat, she watched closely as each team took to their brooms and kicked off when Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle. Lee Jordan's amplified voice echoed over the crowd. "And the Quaffle is take immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –" He was cut off by Professor McGonagall's protests, and Rilla and Guin snickered to each other. After that, she ignored Lee's voice and concentrated on what was actually happening in the game.  
  
Johnson soared towards the other end of the field, Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. Flint and the other Slytherin Chasers ran clever patterns around her, forcing the girl to pass the ball to her teammate Alicia Spinnet. The team in green, still making it difficult for the Gryffindors to execute an offensive maneuver, forced the girl to pass back to Johnson. And then – yes! Flint had stolen the Quaffle away, and instantly tore towards the other end of the field. For a moment, Guin thought he was going to score the first goal of the game, and apparently so did Jordan, but Wood blocked it easily and Bell swerved around him, towards the Slytherin end.  
  
A Bludger thumped Bell in the back of her head, and the Slytherins erupted into catcalls. "Watch it, Bell!" "Oh no, did poor baby drop the Quaffle?" The Gryffindors seethed, but were vindicated as another of the heavy black circles smacked Adrian Pucey in the stomach and almost knocked him off the broom. Johnson regained possession of the Quaffle and flew it skillfully back towards Bletchley – damn! He missed it and the Quaffle was thrown through one of the goals.  
  
Rilla glanced sideways at her friend, amused. Guin, normally self-contained was hopping up and down in her seat like a maniac, face bright red as she screamed exhortations at Angelina Johnson. Hiding a smirk, Rilla pulled her back down into the seat. "Calm yourself, Guin, you wouldn't want to break a blood vessel before the game's over!" Guin glowered at her, but was diverted as the giant gamekeeper clambered into the row behind them.  
  
"Budge up there, move along," he was saying to Hermione.  
  
"Hagrid!"  
  
That reminded her. Guin scanned the skies again, searching for Potter, who drifted aimlessly above the field. Every now and then, he did a tricky little looping, causing her to roll her eyes and mutter, "Showoff." At one point, the two Seekers caught sight of the Snitch, it looked as though Potter was going to get it, but then Flint flew in front of him, jarring the smaller athlete. "Attaboy, Flint!" Guin yelled, waving her fists in the air as Madam Hooch awarded a penalty. "For that?" Guin demanded, furious. "That happens all the time!"  
  
The Gryffindors, including Rilla, were muttering angrily, though Spinnet had easily scored on the penalty goal. Lee Jordan and McGonagall had a small fight about impartial judging, and Lee continued sulkily. "Pucey with the Quaffle, passes to Flint – intercepted by Bell, passes to Johnson – Johnson, flying fast, hit by a Bludger – damn. Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – oh, no.."  
  
Suddenly, people were pointing and gasping in shock and worry. What was going on? At first, Guin couldn't tell, but then Rilla grasped her arm tightly and held out a hand towards the sky. "Look! Omigosh, Harry's lost control of his broom!" Indeed, in the air, the tiny scarlet figure of Harry Potter was pitched violently over and over, before the rolling broom managed to jerk him off: the boy now held on only by one hand. Guin and Rilla hopped from their seats, open mouthed, and L'Argent exclaimed some words that most likely would have made his mother wash out his mouth with soap. "What's wrong with his broom?" Guin demanded, "That's a Nimbus Two Thousand, that is. And new! It shouldn't do that at all .. !"  
  
There were shrieks of panic from the crowd as the broom attempted to shake Potter from it. The Weasley twins circled beneath him; their efforts to pull the boy from the broom were basically useless, for every time they drew close, it moved away. Finally they settled for catching him if he fell. That, too, proved unnecessary. Hermione had sprinted off somewhere, but Guin didn't notice. Her eyes were focused on Potter, who was frantically trying to right himself. Suddenly, the broom calmed and he clambered onto it. He flew swiftly to the ground – and – coughed up the Snitch.  
  
Rilla shrieked in glee. "WE WON! WE WON! AND HE'S NOT DEAD!"  
  
Guin and L'Argent sulked, glaring at Rilla. She stopped screaming long enough to peer curiously at them. "What?" Green and silver eyes met for a moment and rolled identically, before looking away in a hasty fashion after they realized what had happened. Flint attempted to argue the outcome, but even Guin had to admit that the Gryffindors had won fairly, and there was nothing that could be done about it. With a sigh, she trudged away from the Quidditch field.  
  
"I can't believe we lost," she bemoaned to Blaise and another Slytherin girl, Jessica.  
  
"Too bad Harry didn't really fall off the broom!" Blaise said, and caught their looks. "I was joking, joking!"  
  
The Slytherin Common Rooms were not a pleasant place to be if you were a member of the Quidditch team: grousing and complaints were the order of the day. Malfoy, in particular, seemed quite put out, he had been counting on being able to mock Potter for the dramatic loss the Gryffindors supposedly would have suffered. In Potions especially he was free to make digs at the boy, for Snape let inter-House rivalry go on, at least if it was the Slytherins doing the rivalry.  
  
Rilla and Guin walked outside, but the curly-haired girl seemed unusually quiet. "What's wrong, Ril?" Guin asked.  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"No, you're not normally this quiet."  
  
"You'll laugh at me, Guin."  
  
"You know I wouldn't do that."  
  
"Oh.. all right. You know that last Quidditch match?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well when we were leaving.. I.. I felt like there was someone watching me."  
  
Perplexed, Guin glanced sideways at her. "Watching you?"  
  
"I don't know how to describe it. But it was like this feeling that something was staring at me. It was really creepy.."  
  
"Why didn't you say anything about that before?"  
  
"You're always so brave, and I thought that you'd think I was a coward." The round face stared up at her in consternation.  
  
Quite surprised, Guin blinked at her. "Brave? Me? I'm not brave! But Ril, I wouldn't make fun of you, you should know that. If you thought someone was watching you, I believe it. Tell me if it happens again, and we'll .. borrow some of L'Argent's Hardy Boys books and investigate. Okay?"  
  
Rilla cracked a smile and nodded. "Sure.. oh, I better go. I have a Transfiguration lesson now."  
  
Moping a bit, Guin wandered towards the pond, lost in thought. The steely-gray surface was a bit rough, but she stared into it anyway, completely oblivious to the world around her. Sitting down on the ground, she trailed her hand in the chilly water, tracing spirals with her fingers until they grew too numb to bear. Pulling away, she sucked on her scarlet, raw skin, attempting to put some warmth into it. Abruptly, she saw something in the water that caused her to bite her hand accidentally: two icy blue eyes appeared on the surface, and then a cerulean head and pale-skinned shoulders arose after.  
  
"Aua!" Guin said, nursing her now-bleeding middle finger.  
  
"I haven't much time," Aua said, looking worried. "I bring warnings of evil tidings: trust not the friendly face, it may hide a poison deadly to those you love." And she dove back into the water, and disappeared. Not sure what to make of this cryptic warning, Guin stared at the water silently, lightly brushing a finger over the blood on her palm. 


	9. Vacation

Winter vacation was something Guin had been looking forward to since Halloween. Though Hagrid did an admirable job of decorating, and the prospects of another Hogwarts feast was appealing, she had more to look forward to at home. She would be staying with Angeline for a day but then would travel to Muggle London and spend the rest of the vacation at Rilla's. Hardly any of the students would remain at Hogwarts during Christmas, and it didn't bother her overmuch. Malfoy was mocking Potter about being forced to stay, but he was just bitter – about life in general.  
  
The red-haired boy from the Sorting, Winston Freeman, made long, impassioned speeches to anyone who would listen. "The Christmas decorations are discriminatory!" he said, standing on a chair in the Great Hall. "What about the Jews? The Muslims? The Buddhists? The atheists? You have Christmas trees and lights, but do you think about the message that it's sending? Christianity isn't the only religion in the world; the Americans have the right idea, with separation of Church and State." His words were met with snickers from most, speculation from some, and a humored wink from Dumbledore. Guin didn't think she'd ever heard him string more than three words together at a time, unless answering a question in class.  
  
She packed her bag the night before they had to leave, examining the dormitory as she did. Six beds, three on each side of the rectangular room, draped in emerald canopies chased with silver. Through the center aisle ran a green carpet, embroidered with argent snakes twining around each other, in patterns vaguely reminiscent of a Celtic knot. The rest of the floor was stone, as were the walls, but magicked so that it never froze an unwary bare foot. The large fireplace, which burned bright green flames, had in front of it an intricate steel grate, again in the form of snakes.  
  
To Guin, it had become home: she fit with the other Slytherins more easily now. Blaise and the other two girls, Jessica Roth and Sally-Ann Perks, were affable people, and she was able to talk with them. Pansy and Millicent, a trollish and unpleasant girl, were to be avoided. To some, perhaps, the girls' room might have seemed cold, but it had been effused to some extent with a sense of camaraderie, a friendly rivalry between equals. After some amount of time, Parkinson and Bulstrode had utterly no influence in the circle of Slytherins. And that, thought Guin, is the way things should be.  
  
She gathered up her bag, gripping the plastic handle so tightly that it cut a red mark into her hand. A last, fond look at the room before she left, chatting with Blaise and Jessica – well, Jessica wasn't doing much of the talking. She was rather a quiet girl, not given to much show of merriment. Blaise, on the other hand, tended towards silliness. Guin blinked as she continued speaking. "Will you miss Mikael over the vacation? /I/ will. He's sooo dreamy!"  
  
Guin stared blankly at her. "Who's Mikael?"  
  
"L'Argent, silly!" Guin thought privately that Blaise shouldn't be the one talking.  
  
"No, it'll be a nice break from him," she said.  
  
"Guin, you're crazy! He's the cutest first-year Slytherin – maybe the cutest first year –"  
  
"Blaise, I'm only eleven."  
  
"So am I!"  
  
"My point is.. I'm too young to be thinking about boys that way—"  
  
"I'm not!"  
  
"Blaise, you're giving me a headache," Guin said sadly.  
  
"Mission accomplished!"  
  
Jessica grinned at them.  
  
-----  
  
Guin's shoes almost snagged on the train platform as she disembarked, but managed to catch herself before a serious fall. Angeline was waiting for her at the station, in pale green robes that fit snugly around her body. The woman didn't look like a mother, she looked like a model, or some relic of the Victorian age, a pale elfin figure with an inner core of steel. Guin waved goodbye to Rilla, and then stared at the blonde woman. After a second's pause, she gathered up her courage and said bluntly, "Mother, why are you letting me visit Rilla over the vacation?"  
  
"Are you objecting?" Angeline asked amiably, raising one perfect eyebrow.  
  
"Well, no, but.. Mother, I thought you hated Mudbloods." Inwardly, she winced at the use of the word, but Angeline insisted on 'proper' terminology at all times.  
  
With a wave of her hand, Angeline indicated that Guin should follow her to the Z3, which waited patiently outside the station. "Good, Guin," she said approvingly, "I like that you're using the head nature provided you." Guin flushed a bit, pleased. "Things change," the woman murmured shortly, eyes chilling several degrees. "Curiosity is all very well, but it also kills the cat." No, Mother, /you/ kill the cat, Guin thought, but said nothing.  
  
"How are you enjoying Hogwarts, so far, dear?" The word 'dear' in Angeline's mouth became something else, not quite a curse but devoid of any usual friendliness or affection, a mask worn just like the carefully blank expression on her face. "I was so pleased to hear that you were placed in Slytherin – both your father and I were in that House. I would have been utterly disappointed if the Hat had put you into Gryffindor, though you're not very Gryffindor-like, are you? No, you're too much like me."  
  
Guin glanced sideways at Angeline, surprised. She hardly ever mentioned Edmund Marlowe; it was as though she was trying her hardest to forget her husband and father of her only child. However, she did not reply to that, either, for already the girl was worrying about the other words: you're too much like me. I'm not, I'm not, her mind chanted, but there was a nasty niggling feeling in her stomach that Angeline was right.  
  
She was silent for the rest of the ride, but Angeline didn't notice or didn't care, not a word escaped Mother's mouth as she turned smoothly into the long driveway, passing under the impressive gates, with marble snakes twining up the pillars. The Marlowe family manor looked better than she remembered it. The ivy seemed greener, the stones and architecture more whimsical, the house more welcoming. It was more structured than Hogwarts, but was easily as charming.  
  
Guin dropped her bags in the foyer, where they were taken by the silent house elf, and ran to the kitchens. Sarah was stirring a heavy beef stew in a pewter pot when she arrived. "Mumma!" Guin yelped, throwing herself at the mute former-witch. The woman responded warmly, making muffled noises that were the only way she had of verbally expressing joy. Hugging her tightly, Sarah crooned wordlessly at her, smoothing Guin's hair before breaking away and bustling around the room, making sure that the girl had food and warm hot chocolate to drink.  
  
"Thank you, Mumma," Guin said. It was a time, she supposed, when it would be appropriate to tear at the eyes a bit in happiness. But though the grin stretched wide across her face, Guin found she could not cry. Sarah, on the other hand, was waving her arms frantically, water streaming freely down her cheeks. Gesturing with wild swings of her hands, Sarah indicated that Guin was so tall, so grown up! As she had not with Angeline, the silence was broken and the words poured out one-sided, uninterrupted, as Guin told her surrogate mother about life at Hogwarts.  
  
Dinner that evening was a simple affair, but stilted. Angeline seemed more absent than usual, as she poked elegantly at the thick stew Sarah had concocted. Abruptly, the woman pushed her chair back and left. "I'll be in the Owlery if you need me, Guinivere," she said. "Though I expect not to be disturbed." Guin nodded mutely and finished up her dinner. No need to waste perfectly good food, she thought, mopping up the last of the soup with a piece of bread.  
  
-----  
  
"How's your mum?" Rilla asked, as she led Guin through the door into her parents' flat.  
  
"She's herself," Guin said dryly.  
  
"It's not that big, but it'll do – we have the trundle bed set up for you in my room," Rilla replied, as they dropped Guin's suitcases off in her room. It wasn't very large, indeed, Guin thought, but it wasn't what one could call cramped. The bed and the trundle took up most of the space available, and a cluttered desk and chair what was left. Hung on the walls were posters of rock bands that Rilla liked, most of them Muggle.  
  
"Weird!" Guin said, peering at them. "They're not moving at all!"  
  
Rilla giggled quite a lot at that, and had to be slapped on the back in order to calm down. The parents were nice but basically colorless people, especially when Guin compared them with her own. They regarded her somewhat nervously, as though she would be apt to curse them or make tulips grow from their foreheads or something to that line of thought. "Maybe we better spend most of the time in the city – Mum and Da aren't exactly the calmest people in the country." She giggled again, and they set off.  
  
Guin was amused by the Muggle shops that they browsed, and even more so by the various people walking by in the streets. Some of the fashions were quite shocking, and the two girls had several snickers at the expense of those daring enough to wear them. Guin herself was dressed in Muggle clothing, as was Rilla. Angeline would have been shocked if she saw her daughter: a black T-shirt, oversized, had the words 'antisocial: approach at your own risk' printed across it. Baggy gray cargo pants hid bony legs, and in one of the Muggle antique shops, Guin had found an old RAF flight jacket, which she wore proudly. Numerous necklaces completed the outfit, along with combat boots.  
  
Nothing so outrageous was to be found on Rilla, who tended to favor more conservative styles. They passed their time idly, squandering it in tourist spots and the smaller alleyways where hardly anyone traveled. In Diagon Alley, they met some of their classmates, but it was on a busy street in London that they saw someone neither of them had expected. Rilla had gone into a shop to use the bathroom, and Guin loitered outside, bored. Scanning the crowd idly, she analyzed the inhabitants walking by, trying to guess what their jobs might be. Something about a boy her age looked familiar, and then Guin groaned in dismay. It was no one other than L'Argent.  
  
He was dressed like, well, a punk. There was no other way to put it. L'Argent was in Muggle clothing, which surprised her as much as the initial shock of actually running into the boy. A gray sweatshirt had black letters printed on it: 'optimism not wanted here.' She had to snicker at that; it was something Guin herself would have bought. Huge jeans billowed around his lower body, covering his shoes. He had at least as many necklaces as she did, ball chains and what looked like several rubber bands tied together, with a Captain Planet ring strung along them.  
  
And worse, he had seen her too. "Guin?"  
  
"Just my luck," she replied.  
  
"Hello to you, too."  
  
"Re-stocking on Hardy Boys novels?" Guin asked sweetly.  
  
"Actually, no," he said. "I'm visiting my Uncle Henry."  
  
The blond man from the picture exited from the same store into which Rilla had refuged. He peered with intrinsic good nature at her, than glanced sideways at L'Argent. "Friend of yours from school, Mikael?" Uncle Henry was tall, a trait which seemed to run in the L'Argent family. Downy corn-yellow hair fluffed along his skull, resting above deep brown eyes that had also the trademark puppy-dog look to them. He was dressed normally, as well, and Guin supposed that was a result of living in a Muggle city.  
  
"To some extent," L'Argent said, clearly unsure.  
  
"Guinivere Marlowe," Guin said, holding out her hand. Henry L'Argent shook it firmly, and she fought back a wince as he accidentally crushed her fingers. Not noticing, the man glanced back and forth between the two of them, nodding.  
  
"Know your mother, I do," he said, causing Guin to sigh in annoyance.  
  
"Everyone does, sir."  
  
"None of that sir business, please!" he said, comically tragic. "Just Henry. You'll make me feel like an old fart."  
  
"Not much of a difference there, Uncle Henry, you're a middle-aged fart," L'Argent interjected.  
  
"That's m' boy," Uncle Henry said cheerfully, and then glanced towards the door as Rilla approached them. "And who's this?"  
  
"I'm Rilla," she said.  
  
"Muggle-born?" Uncle Henry queried, "You have the look about you."  
  
Odd, Guin thought. The look in his eye had suddenly become rather more intense, though perhaps it was just a trick of the light. No, no, you're being silly, Guin. Shaking her head, the girl blinked. What was she thinking? This man was obviously an adult to be trusted. Rilla was already giggling at some joke that he and L'Argent had fired off – "Join us for lunch?" Uncle Henry wanted to know, and the two girls nodded. They had nowhere else to go today. L'Argent grinned, a touch relieved, and the four of them tramped off to find a decent restaurant. 


	10. Memories

Guin decided after a half-hour's lunch that she liked Uncle Henry very much indeed. Despite an initial unease, which she attributed to the fact that she'd never seen the man before in her life, she found that he was quite the charmer, friendly and funny – his sense of humor was much like L'Argent's, lacking, of course, the wounding edge. He listened attentively to their stories of Hogwarts, laughed at all the right places, and groaned and complained along with them. "McGonagall was the teacher when I was a kid; I was a Ravenclaw, though."  
  
"Was she as strict?" Rilla wanted to know.  
  
"Worse," Uncle Henry said, with a comical grimace; "I think she's mellowed in her old age."  
  
Guin and Rilla looked dubiously at each other: they couldn't imagine McGonagall as anything but a disciplinarian, and if what Henry said was true, than she must have been truly formidable before. Lunch went by slowly, but it was enjoyable. At about one o' clock, another group of people entered through the door, setting the bell tinkling, and L'Argent pushed his chair away from the table and ran to meet them. "Mum! Dad!"  
  
"Hello, Mikael," said the woman. She was tall, dark-eyed and dark haired, with a strong nose and determined features. The only feature that L'Argent had taken from his mother Aviva was the hair, thick, slightly curly, and deep sable. "Hello, Henry – who are these charming young women?" she asked, aiming an ever-so tiny wink at the girls.  
  
L'Argent's father was also quite tall, with brownish hair and pale gray eyes. It was clear that all the children took after him, in face and especially the eyes: all that pallid leaden hue. There were three other kids with them, two brown haired girls who looked as though they might be twins, Matilde and Marthe, and a small, grubby-faced boy named Merrick, with a head of curly black hair, who promptly shoved his hand in his mouth and stared wide-eyed at them, nervously. As introductions were made, the two girls pushed themselves in front of their younger brother, peering at Guin and Rilla.  
  
"Are you Mikael's friends?" Matilde demanded.  
  
"What House are you in?" Marthe added.  
  
"Will you show us around, when we get to Hogwarts?"  
  
"D' you know a lot of spells?"  
  
"Can we see some?"  
  
"Mikael won't do spells for us."  
  
"He says we're too young to see them—"  
  
"But we think he just doesn't know any."  
  
Bemused, Rilla glanced at Guin and looked pained. The only other people they knew that talked like this were the Weasley twins, Fred and George, both third years. However, there were subtle differences between the two ingenuous faces presented before them, and Guin thought that perhaps Marthe was a bit older. "Are you twins?" she asked them curiously. Instantly the two looked quite aggrieved, and shook their heads vehemently.  
  
"No!"  
  
"Why does everyone think that?"  
  
"It's because you talk like you know what the other one's thinking," Merrick said, removing his hand from his mouth, looking surprised that he had spoken, and promptly returned to sucking on his fingers, eyes as maniacally large as ever.  
  
"But we're not twins!" Matilde insisted.  
  
"Yeah, Matilde's ten months older than I am. You know that, Mer!"  
  
Aviva and Jack L'Argent listened to their children, amused, letting them chatter. L'Argent himself whispered to Guin and Rilla, though loud enough so that his sisters could hear him. The comment would be ruined, otherwise, after all. "Pay them no mind, they're always like this, you can't shut them up." Matilde and Marthe glared wordlessly at him.  
  
Uncle Henry paid for the bill, and the L'Argent clan spilled back out onto the London street, into one of the parks, where they chatted. Guin found herself talking to Jack, who looked down at her from a vantagepoint of well over six feet. "How are you, Guin?" he said, looking uneasy. When she asked him what was wrong, the man sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and gestured her over to the side. "Mikael has probably told you that I knew your father in school?" She nodded, mutely, not trusting herself to speak. "Well, we were very good friends, and – and when I look at you, you're so much like him it brings back old memories."  
  
Guin blinked. She should feel water in her eyes, really. That's how she felt. But nothing came, only a lump in her throat that made her voice hoarse as she tried to speak. "Can you tell me how – how he died?" she asked, voice a rasping whisper.  
  
"We don't really know," Jack L'Argent said, his face pale. "He – disappeared. They looked, but.."  
  
"Mum never talks about him. What was he like?"  
  
He swallowed hard, pale eyes looking off into the distance, the thousand-yard stare, seeing back decades when he was still young and the world held promise and joy. "We were both Slytherins, and we'd been best friends for years. Edmund was the serious one, and I was the practical joker – oh, he had a nasty sense of humor as well, sarcastic and cynical. Character foils, I guess you'd call them.. I would have died for him," Jack told her seriously, laughing with a hollow sound. "You're very much like him, Guin. I normally wouldn't be this candid – Edmund had the same look. He'd watch you, and you'd talk because you wanted him to smile and you wanted him to like you— I'm sorry if this is hard for you, hearing about him."  
  
"No, no, I'm fine," Guin insisted, desperately wanting to hear more. "When did he meet mum?"  
  
Jack L'Argent looked around uneasily for a moment, and surreptitiously cast a spell, wand hidden in his jacket sleeve. "Silencio enfoldus," he murmured, and hastened to reassure the girl, who was looking a bit wary. "No, I just don't want anyone to hear what I say next..  
  
"Your mother was always cold. She was beautiful, and nakedly ambitious. Your quintessential Slytherin, basically. She and Edmund had an odd sort of relationship – they were so much alike that they had a common bond deep between them, but so alike also that they couldn't cope with their sameness. Too much ambition, too many secrets between them. And.. Guin, no one else is going to tell you this, and I swear to you that I speak as a friend, I don't mean to hurt you – you have a right to know -- but – they were both Death Eaters."  
  
Guin looked at the ground, a rushing sounding in her ears. She had known that Angeline was a supporter of Lord Voldemort, definitely: but Father? Subconsciously Guin knew she had longed for Edmund to be a hero, for him to be someone that she could trust and laugh with – Oh. L'Argent's father was speaking again.  
  
"Don't look like that, it's not— it's not what it sounds," he said. "After you were born, your father.. Edmund.. decided that Lord Voldemort was truly evil, and that he could no longer be a disciple of that horrible name. He betrayed – turned in – a number of high-ranking followers working in the Ministry, and afterwards was forced into hiding, fearing for his life. Edmund died a hero, however he was killed – most certainly by one of Voldemort's supporters. For his treachery. But he died a hero."  
  
Guin felt curiously hollow inside. New information flitted through her brain like flies, assembling and reassembling in a strange sort of numbness. She could almost see Edmund Marlowe, a man who looked something like Mikael, raising his wand in a desperate last stand – or maybe they killed him from behind – She did not realize that she was staring off into space until L'Argent's father shook her, looking worried. "Guin? Guin, are you all right?"  
  
Feeling a bit dazed, Guin glanced up at him. "Hmm? No, I'm fine, really. The others are waiting." Indeed, the rest of the party was watching them without it appearing to do so. Only Uncle Henry was still watching them, that oddly focused look on his handsome features again. Jack L'Argent nodded, removed the spell, and they walked back to where the rest waited. Guin glanced at her watch, and then at Rilla. "We'd better get going – Rilla's parents will be worried, I think."  
  
It took several minutes to extricate themselves from the L'Argent clan, particularly from the clutches of Matilde and Marthe. The two sisters were loathe to let the older girls leave, they continued to pelt them with questions up until the point where Aviva L'Argent peeled their grasping hands away from Guin and Rilla's arms and forcibly dragged them away. L'Argent waved, but in a subdued sort of way – he was overshadowed by the loud and boisterous family; only he and Merrick were really the quiet type.  
  
"What was that about?" Rilla whispered, once they had managed to escape.  
  
"It was – L'Argent's da knew mine, and, and he told me a bit about him.. I'm sorry, Ril, I just.. I need a moment to.. to think.." 


	11. The Forest

Rilla was worried about Guin. On the ride back to Hogwarts, as the train jolted and jumped and rattled their teeth around, the girl was silent, her cheek pressed against the window, the Scottish countryside streaking past; not seeing it. When she finally sat up, one side of her face was bright red and creased from pressure, but there were no tears in her eyes, or any hint of grief or even emotion. The Gryffindor watched her friend shrewdly, shaking her head lightly. One of these days, Guin was going to have to cry. It was quite unhealthy, she reflected, to keep emotions bottled up like that.  
  
Guin knew nothing of this pondering, and indeed, did not have much by way of coherent musings during the entire ride. The flashing scenery proved only something to concentrate upon, as thoughts of her parents tumbled through her head. How had her father died? She hadn't known he was a Death Eater – what if he hadn't really turned away from evil? With two parents serving Voldemort, was she too destined to follow in their steps?  
  
It was with these morose thoughts that she and Rilla headed back up to Hogwarts, surrounded by the other students. They buzzed self importantly around her, and for a moment, Guin hated all of them, for no reason except that they were cheerful and happy and didn't have destiny hanging low around their heads and smothering them. They laughed and talked and were generally unconcerned, and several of them recoiled from her suddenly icy green glare.  
  
"Guin!" squealed Sally-Ann, "How was your vacation?"  
  
She meant well, she meant well, Guin chanted to herself, fighting the urge to poke the girl's eyes out. She was beaming in an infuriating way, blond pigtails swaying on either side of the angelic face. Rilla pulled Sally aside, fingers gripping the other girl's arm tightly. "Don't bother her now," she said tightly, "Guin's not in the best mood right now." Indeed, watching the Slytherin, there was something crystalline about her, a new tightness to her shoulders and the way she stood.  
  
Sally-Ann examined her for a moment, mouth pressing into a disapproving line. Pansy Parkinson joined them, hard face contorted into a cruel grin. "What's wrong with the Marlowe-baby, Mudblood? Something she ate over the holidays disagree with her?"  
  
Guin whirled and faced Pansy, eyes wide with rage. "I've had about enough of you, Parkinson!" she said, and punched the girl hard in the nose. After this, several things happened in quick succession. One, Pansy started to bleed crimson all over her new robes. This in turn caused her to set up a wail that drew attention from all sides. Second, Millicent Bulstrode came to her friend's defense and promptly connected her fist with Guin's stomach, which caused her to sit down hard on the ground and blink. Thirdly, a second meat-fisted hit from Millicent connected with her eye, and fourthly, Severus Snape arrived on the scene and pulled the girls apart.  
  
"And just what do you think you are doing?" he demanded, as usual icily cool.  
  
"Brofesser, she s'ar'ed ib," Pansy wailed, voice unpleasantly clogged as she held a hand underneath her nose.  
  
"I don't care who started it! This is disgraceful, and something I'd expect of the Gryffindors and not Slytherins! I would take points away, but school has not started yet." Black eyes glared at them, and he pointed a thin finger at Guin, whose eye was beginning to swell. "You, Marlowe. Come with me." Guin shot a miserable look at Rilla, and trudged away after the professor. They walked in silence to the castle, where Snape led her down into the dungeons.  
  
They were particularly chilly that day, and Guin shivered and tugged her school-robes tighter around herself. Snape gestured for her to sit down in the one chair that stood forlornly in front of his desk, which she did, swinging her feet nervously. "Might I ask you, Miss Marlowe, what exactly possessed you this afternoon? Madam Pomfrey informed me that Miss Parkinson is quite hysterical." Guin could have sworn that the tiniest hint of a smile played around Snape's mouth, but she was sure that it was imagined.  
  
"I don't know, Professor," she said truthfully. He continued to watch her silently, and she continued. "You knew my parents?"  
  
A bit confused, Snape's brow furrowed momentarily as he tried to figure out the direction in which the conversation turned. "I did."  
  
"Do you know how my da died?"  
  
An expressionless visage faced her, the momentary good humor faded. Was it her imagination again, or was there a hesitation before the answer? "No." Snape twiddled his thumbs idly. "Miss Marlowe, if there is anything you'd like to tell me, you are welcome to. I am not taking points off now, but I warn you that in the future I will not be so lenient."  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Miss Parkinson," Snape added, "is unpleasant. It runs in the family, I am told. Don't let her get to you, Miss Marlowe."  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
With that, she fled into the hallway, where Rilla lurked nervously. "What happened?" she asked, glancing around apprehensively. Passing Slytherins glared at the girl with the Gryffindor emblem pinned to her shoulder, and she looked defiantly back at them, blunt chin raised proudly. "Did he take away any points?" she demanded, poking at Guin's shoulder.  
  
"No need to sound so excited," Guin said.  
  
"That's not what I meant—"  
  
"So, id's d' liddle psychodic," Pansy said, nose still clogged with blood. She appeared behind them, along with Millicent Bulstrode, an avenging devil with a glare on her pug-face. When Guin and Rilla didn't deign to answer, she took a step forward, malevolence oozing from her. "Well, whad's d' matter, Marlowe? Scared, are you?"  
  
"Come on, Guin," Rilla said, "We don't have to listen to her. Be careful, Parkinson," she added, "You're dripping on the floor." Sniggering at the splotches of crimson that now decorated the immaculate floor, they pushed past her and outside.  
  
Guin suddenly felt a craving for cool air on her face; the castle of Hogwarts felt unnaturally claustrophobic. "Come on!" she said to Rilla, "Let's go." Without quite knowing why, she followed a pre-laid path, feet treading confidently forward. Guin hardly heard as Rilla offered an inquiry about their destination, she merely moved towards some goal that lingered out of reach – and, as they sidled over the lawns of Hogwarts and out the gates, it became clear that they were going to end up in the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"Guin!" Rilla hissed. The trees were so close. Invitingly green and cool, they hung in a shimmering, enchanted mist. A large oak and a smaller rowan intertwined overhead to form a verdant arbor, dripping dew onto the ground beneath. Grass gradually gave way to a dark emerald moss that velveted the ground and inched its way determinedly up the scarred trunks. Insubstantial gossamer spider's webs threaded through the spaces left by branches, shining with their own ethereal luminescence. Guin did not answer, but walked underneath the arch and into the darkness.  
  
Instantly there was a change in atmosphere. From fairly sunny, the air had suddenly grown dim; from relative silence, there were muted forest-noises, birds cheeping, what sounded uncannily like the hooting of an owl; muffled grumbles from some beast as it crushed through the scrub. Rilla fell silent, unnerved by the fey shadowy quality of the scene. Guin, intrigued, whispered to her. "Wonderful, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, very, now let's go please!"  
  
A soft chuckle emitted from Guin's mouth. "What sort of Gryffindor are you? Scared?"  
  
"No!" Rilla said, affronted. "But we're not supposed to be here – if we're caught—"  
  
"We won't be," Guin hissed, "We can't leave now that we've gotten here. You can go. I'm going to explore."  
  
"Insane," Rilla moaned, glancing nervously around her, "You're completely insane."  
  
"It runs in the family," Guin said dryly.  
  
They walked, ducking underneath overhanging branches and vines, some secret sense making their footsteps quiet and their voices muted. Guin was fascinated; she'd never been in the forest before. Her sense of claustrophobia was immediately cured, and her curiosity piqued. As they stalked, she thought that she'd caught a glimpse of a pure white figure, fleet and flashing in the darkness. It shone with an empyreal light, causing both girls to rubberneck and attempt to see better what it had been. "A unicorn?" Rilla whispered, and Guin had to agree.  
  
"Listen! I hear water," Rilla said, taking the lead. They hurried through the brush, nimbly hopping over the tangled roots and small plants, until they reached a clearing. Starting a few feet where the trees ended was a medium-sized lake, the crystal water glimmering diamond-like in the hazy afternoon light. Guin could see that in the center of it was an island, darkly thatched with trees and bush, a miniature piece of jungle trapped in the middle of that fire-like liquid.  
  
Stepping forward to peer into the water, Rilla stubbed her toe on something and bit back a yelp of surprise. They looked down, and found that what she had tripped over was a fist-sized rock, roughly shaped but with its own unique symmetry. It was crystalline and translucent; the light filtered through and focused a prism on a patch of moss beneath. "Wow," they whispered in unison.  
  
"Do you think it'd be okay if I kept it?" Rilla wondered.  
  
"I'd think so. It's beautiful." The milky crystal was slipped into the pocket of Rilla's robes, where it promptly weighed them down and caused her to walk slightly lop-sided. An unspoken signal heeded, they hurried back to the school, retracing their steps.  
  
-----  
  
Later that night, Guin's stomach growled and vacated the Common Room, which was fairly silent that night anyway. She glided along the corridors towards the kitchens. Angeline had discovered their location in her second year and passed the "secret" along to her daughter, who duly intended to make full use of the knowledge. Heading for the corridor that led the way up to where the house-elves cooked, Guin was distracted by voices.  
  
She emerged in front of the library, though the normally heavy trafficked-hallway was empty, and was confronted with the pale face of Malfoy and the fearful one of the Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. Malfoy was speaking, his voice the usual lazy drawl. "What's wrong, Longbottom, not brave enough to be a Gryffindor? Don't like hexes? I need some practice, anyway.. Locomotor Mortis!" Instantly, Neville's legs snapped together and he toppled over.  
  
Malfoy was about to raise his wand again, his mouth opened to speak a spell. Guin fumbled inside her sleeve for her own wand, aiming it at Malfoy. "Leave him alone, you little shit," she said, causing him to glance sideways and glare.  
  
"Don't meddle, Marlowe, or you'll meet the same fate as your daddy."  
  
Guin bit her lip, though as they talked, Neville had hobbled away and disappeared around the corner. "You're a coward, Malfoy, just like /your/ da." Without waiting for him to make a reply, Guin said sharply, "Aegresco!" From the end of the ebony wand shot a sickly yellow light that hit Malfoy's stomach and knocked him backwards. It was a nasty little spell that Angeline had taught her, and caused the victim to become violently ill for several moments.  
  
She peeked over her shoulder as she trotted on her way to the kitchens, and sure enough, Malfoy was puking up his dinner and lunch onto the floor, sides heaving as he choked. Snickering to herself, Guin replaced her wand and carefully made sure no one was watching before she found the correct corridor, tickled the pear, and set about finding a light midnight snack. 


	12. Quidditch Again

Chapter Twelve: Quidditch Again  
"Guin! Guin!" Rilla whispered. It was a tumbled jumble of excited words that fell one after another from her mouth, as though she could not wait to spill them out. Rilla was attempting to be quiet, but again, her enthusiasm rose the murmur to a sort of sotto voce stage mutter. Running, she caught up with her taller friend and glanced at her. "I have to tell you something!" Dancing from foot to foot, she looked as though she was about to burst.  
  
"What is it?" Guin asked knowingly. Rilla often had 'terribly important things' to tell, but they weren't always as high of a priority as she thought. This time, however, Guin was wrong.  
  
"Remember on Halloween, when we saw that three-headed dog?"  
  
"The Cerberus? How could I forget?"  
  
"I found out what it's guarding."  
  
"What?! How?"  
  
"Well, you know how Harry, Hermione, and Ron are always talking?"  
  
"They're friends, yeah."  
  
"And you remember that night when Malfoy was bullying Neville? After you scared Malfoy off, Neville hopped all the way up to the Gryffindor tower, crying like. So I'm sitting on a chair with its back to them, and they don't know I'm there. But I'm listening, see, 'cos I'm curious. Harry gave Neville one of those chocolate frogs, but he didn't take the card. After Neville left, they read the card, and then Harry said, 'Dumbledore again. He was the first one I ever—' then he gasped and went on – 'I've found him! I've found Flamel!' Then he read the card, and then Hermione went running upstairs to get a book and – what they're hiding under the trapdoor is a Philosopher's Stone!" She took a deep breath. "Amazing! So I could hardly sleep 'cos I wanted to tell you."  
  
Guin had been staring at her, rapt, throughout the recital. "Well, they've certainly got it well protected.. I suppose that no one could steal it, now – someone tried. In July. I read it in the Daily Prophet." They walked along the hallway to their abandoned classroom, Guin running a hand through her hair. "Good work, Ril. Guess it pays off to be small sometimes, eh?" They snickered at each other, and then slipped through the door into the classroom.  
  
From her pocket, Rilla drew the stone she had found yesterday.  
  
"I wonder if it's magical?" Rilla wondered, as they examined the stone she had found in the forest. It shimmered piercingly in the dim gas light of the chamber, the flickering blue flames on the walls picked up in the depths of the pebble. Both girls held their wands out, trying out different spells on the thing. Guin knew that if they were caught, the Professors would be most displeased – magical experimentation on mysterious objects was supposed to be a thing left to the professionals, i.e., the teachers. Heedless of the fact, Guin and Rilla had both attempted various charms on the object, but nothing happened.  
  
In exasperation, they threw everything they knew at it, including the boil-summoning magic, the Furnunculus hex. Then, Rilla tried a simple light-bringing incantation. "Lumos!" Suddenly, the stone shone brilliantly from within, a blinding flame that had no hint of a flicker, just an unceasing, searing fire. After a few seconds of stunned vision-less blinking, their eyes grew accustomed to the glare.  
  
"It almost looks like phoenix fire's supposed to," Guin said thoughtfully, "You know, when they burn."  
  
"What's that?" A curious voice at the door inquired amiably. The two girls recoiled. This particular room, they thought, was their secret, a classroom almost entirely forgotten by the rest of the castle at large, tucked away in the recessed alcoves of a dusty hallway. But yet, there, standing at the door, cool and collected, was the sardonically cheerful face of L'Argent. He laughed at their guilty faces, and then looked at the stone. "Can I come in too, or is this a girl's only clubhouse?"  
  
"If we say no, will you listen?"  
  
"Point taken," he conceded, and moved into the room, taking a seat on one of the pillows placed on the floor. Fingers in a pyramid that rested below his chin, the boy squinted at Rilla's find curiously. "Where'd you manage to steal that?"  
  
"We didn't steal it, L'Argent," Guin snapped, waving her hand. "Go away."  
  
Rilla startled both of them with a blue-eyed glare. "All right, you two, stop it!"  
  
"Stop what?" Guin and L'Argent said at the same time, and promptly shot poisonous glares in the other's direction.  
  
"/That/. Stop carping at each other all the time. You should be friends, you're like the same person separated in two."  
  
Guin and L'Argent glanced at each other, revolted, and made the sort of face that only an immature eleven-year-old can manage. "Friends?" Guin asked in disbelief. "Rilla, I'm sorry, you must be insane. Friends with him—?"  
  
"Maybe— maybe she has a point," L'Argent said after a moment's pause. "I mean, it'd make my life a lot easier. Marlowe, mutual assured destruction?"  
  
It took Guin several seconds to come up with a meaning for his words. And then, it came to her: during the 1960's, the Muggle governments of the Soviet Union and the United States were involved in a Cold War and an arms race, to see who could build the most deadly weapons the fastest. At any one point, they both possessed enough ammunition to destroy the world many times over, but neither wanted the nuclear holocaust many could see approaching. Instead, there had been an unofficial policy of mutual assured destruction – I can kill you, but if I try, you could kill me too. So I won't.  
  
She had to grin at the reference, and nodded. "I suppose. But this still doesn't mean I'm going to like you."  
  
"No, I suppose that'd be too much to ask," he drawled, and leaned forward. "So where did you find this thing, anyway?"  
  
"In the Forbidden Forest." Guin said it as nonchalantly as possible, and was rewarded by the look of surprise on L'Argent's face.  
  
"You went in the Forbidden Forest?" The girls grinned at each other; he sounded fairly envious.  
  
It seemed, Rilla reflected, to fit. As they talked, Guin and Mikael still snipped and insulted, but there was a certain quality that the blue-eyed girl could sense, perhaps of friendship, but more of an understanding that had not been there before. And she smiled, for that had been her goal. Taking the light-spell off of the crystal, she turned to listen to the others argue about something – what their disagreement was did not matter.  
  
-----  
  
Rilla was quite annoyed that Snape was to referee the upcoming Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. "Guin, you have to admit that he's going to favor the Slytherins," Rilla argued.  
  
"No, he won't," L'Argent said, shaking his head emphatically. "Snape's fair."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Rilla said, affronted. "Just look at him in Potions!"  
  
"Yeah, but that's not official, like this. I'm telling you he'll be fair."  
  
The two Slytherins and the Gryffindor trooped down to the Quidditch field, caught up in the noisy crowds. Rilla was more nervous than Guin or L'Argent. Slytherin would not be playing today, and they were in second place, having lost only to Gryffindor itself. Guin could see the players warming up on the field, the crowd oohing and aaahing as Potter did some practice loops and dives. He was rather good, Guin admitted, and sat back in her seat to enjoy the game.  
  
It was short but amusing. Snape awarded Hufflepuff a penalty after swerving around in a circle to avoid a Bludger shot his way by Fred Weasley. All three children laughed uproariously, it was quite an amusing sight, and his normally sallow face was flushed red with annoyance. Their attention was momentarily diverted as a scuffle broke out on the stands: Rilla kept an eye on the field, as Guin and L'Argent attempted to piece out what was going on three or four rows below them. Ron had attacked Malfoy, it seemed, and Crabbe and Goyle were beating Neville—  
  
"He's got it! He almost knocked Snape off the broom!" Rilla said, and just as suddenly fell silent. She tugged on Guin's sleeve urgently. "Guin, Guin, it's happening again."  
  
Guin tore her eyes away from the fight, and glanced at Rilla. "Hmm?" Rilla repeated herself, and Guin's eyes sharpened. Perhaps Rilla was just being paranoid, but the worried look seemed to be genuine enough. "Someone's watching you?" L'Argent peered at them curiously. "No time to explain. Let's go," Guin said, dragging them down out of the stands, before the rest of the crowd could rush at the field and down the stairs.  
  
They hurried out of the Quidditch field, where Rilla lurked in the shadows nervously. "I don't know. It's creepy. I can't describe it.."  
  
"There!" L'Argent said, pointing. A dark figure had noticed them, and just as quickly slipped away.  
  
Guin and L'Argent had their wands out in their hands instantly, and Rilla did after a moment as well. "The feeling's gone," she whispered. "God. It was like being drenched in cold water.."  
  
They continued to look; but found only crowds of celebrating Gryffindors. 


	13. Detention

At breakfast, Sally-Ann fell asleep, her head dropping forward into her porridge. The rest of the Slytherins laughed uproariously as she started, lifting a face upward to show features caked with gray, lumpy goo. Rilla, across the room, saw, and had to be pounded on the back by Seamus Finnigan until she stopped giggling, for the laughter changed into hiccups. Sally-Ann took it better than Guin would have, wiping off the goop with a nearby napkin.  
  
"Hey, Marlowe, how come your mummy doesn't send you anything?" Malfoy asked, nonchalantly unwrapping a package from home.  
  
Guin stuck her tongue out at him, but didn't deign to respond beyond that. Glancing sideways, she noticed that L'Argent's food remained mostly untouched, and he was bent over the sketchbook sent by Uncle Henry, quill scribbling industriously. She took the opportunity to steal a piece of his toast, and nibbled at it while trying to see what he was drawing. Unfortunately her movements attracted his attention, and he covered up the notepad and glared at her. "Stop!"  
  
"Why? I'm just curious."  
  
"It's not done yet. It's not very good."  
  
"Bull. All your stuff's good and you can show me again when you're finished."  
  
There was a momentary struggle in which Guin's elbow knocked a jug of fresh milk onto Crabbe's lap, but eventually she managed to snatch the notebook away from his reluctant fingers. At first the lines made no sense to her, but then she realized that it was being held upside down. Twirling it around, Guin evaded another grab by L'Argent, and peered curiously at the sketch. It was a fairly accurate rendering of herself, and Rilla, bent over the crystal that shone in black and white.  
  
"You drew /us/!" Guin said, tiny smile on her face.  
  
"Well," he muttered.  
  
"Aw, don't be /embarrassed/, L'Argent – reading the Hardy Boys is something to be embarrassed about. This isn't bad at all."  
  
He mumbled something that sounded like, "Dmnfgh," and snatched the book away before beating a hasty retreat.  
  
"Guin! That was mean," Blaise admonished her, raising both eyebrows in her direction. "What did he draw, anyway?"  
  
"Professor Binns in a bikini," Guin replied, finishing the rest of her breakfast before slipping away from the table to find Rilla.  
  
"No he didn't!" she could hear Blaise yelping from the Slytherin end of the room, and grinned to herself.  
  
"Hey, Ril, I've got an idea," she told her friend, who looked suspiciously at her.  
  
"I don't like the sound of that, Guin. I don't want to get in trouble today."  
  
"Fine," Guin said, a little affronted, and hurried away. "You're always too scared to do anything fun! I'll find someone else who wants to listen!"  
  
L'Argent was heading back down to the Slytherin Commons when she caught up with him. "Hey, L'Argent," Guin called, and he turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Yes, Marlowe?"  
  
"I have an idea. Want to listen?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
When she told him, they both started to giggle uncontrollably.  
  
-----  
  
It took quite a while to prepare for the prank, but eventually, the jar hidden in Guin's bag was buzzing and shaking excitedly. There had been several slight mishaps, involving one which turned Guin's hair a bright, smarting neon blue, though finally everything was in place and set. The two children were forced not to look at each other as they entered McGonagall's class for fear that they'd start laughing at each other.   
  
She began as always by calling role, but soon handed out the socks they were supposed to be Transfiguring into knit shirts. It was fairly easy, for the fabric was basically the same. Halfway through the class, L'Argent glanced sideways at Guin and nodded his head every so slightly. She ducked low to open her bag, shielded by the mess of knitting that he held up, as though puzzled. Unscrewing the iron jar lid, Guin let the fairies free, and then slipped the glass container back into hiding.  
  
Fairies have several species, some dignified and tall, like the one in Cinderella, others tiny and mischievous, and still others, medium sized and rather like people in most respects. The ones which Guin and L'Argent had spent most of the afternoon catching were quite small, but devilish and prone to causing trouble. They had been trapped in a jar, in the dark, for hours, and were annoyed and anxious to get free, and exploded over the class in a whirlwind.  
  
Fairy magic is as varied as the fairies themselves, and they're imaginative, on top of that. Shrieks of surprise rent the air as little, tinkling pops signaled another spell cast. Several children now sported rainbow shaded hair; several seemed to have grown extra arms, and still others had fairies buzzing like gnats around their heads, poking them with sharp little wands fashioned from cobwebs and twigs. Six of the fairies, in concert, summoned a grunting forest boar into the middle of the class. Generally, the scene was chaos, with McGonagall yelling over the entire thing.  
  
"Stop! Stop panicking! Just hold still!" She was making the fairies disappear as fast as possible, but they didn't want to go. They seemed to have multiplied; Guin was sure that they had only caught ten in the original batch. Rapidly, they made a mess of the room, and she and L'Argent could hardly breathe for laughing. Unfortunately, their plan was spoiled when two of the fairies lifted her bag and dropped it on the floor, where the shattering of the glass jar was an unmistakable noise.  
  
By now, Professor McGonagall had banished the rest of the fairies back to the Forest, but she had heard the noise. Stalking forward, she picked up the shards of glass from Guin's page with a levitation charm, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the two children, who stared at their feet. "Miss Marlowe? Mr. L'Argent? Am I to assume that this is a joke?" They mumbled excuses, but she continued. "Twenty points from Slytherin, and detentions for you both."  
  
"But—" L'Argent began to protest.  
  
"No buts! Class dismissed, it's going to take a while to clean up this mess! Those who were enchanted, please stay behind to be fixed."  
  
-----  
  
The Slytherins were quite annoyed when they next surveyed the hourglasses in the Great Hall, which had dipped to below Gryffindor's. When it was made known that Guin and L'Argent had been the culprits responsible, they were the object of much abuse. Tomasz, a student of Polish descent, cursed them out in his native language, sounding quite disgusted. Malfoy glowered at them, though there was a certain smug quality to his smile that puzzled both of the miscreants. He shouldn't be this happy that they had gotten in trouble, for of course it hurt the Slytherins, too.  
  
Rilla was not speaking to either Guin or L'Argent.  
  
The next morning they were delivered notes at the breakfast table, telling them to meet Hagrid outside Wednesday at eleven o'clock, in order to serve their detention in the Forbidden Forest. Several other students were to accompany them, and they were searching for an injured unicorn. Guin and L'Argent were paired up with Fang, Hagrid's monstrous, though friendly, wolfhound. "Stick ter th' path," he instructed them.  
  
"Here, I'll show you where we found the crystal," Guin whispered to L'Argent.  
  
"Aren't we supposed to be working?" he asked innocently, receiving a punch in the arm from Guin. "All right, all right. Can you find it in the dark?"  
  
"Lumos," Guin whispered, and they followed the ghostly witch-light through the forest, finding the lake, which was spookily shadowed in the night, reflecting the moon up at their wan faces. The light sound of hooves crinkling against the loam startled both of them. "Is that—?" L'Argent hissed. But it wasn't the unicorn.  
  
It was a centaur. He was blond, palamino, and had pale blue eyes that flickered over them curiously. "Hello," Guin managed, though shock made her throat tight and voice hoarse.  
  
The centaur seemed amused, if anything. He bowed slightly, and spoke. "Hello, Guinivere Marlowe. Mikael L'Argent. I," and here he paused, "am Firenze, and that which you seek is not far away. Give Hagrid my regards." And he bounded off into the night, leaving the two standing and gaping.  
  
"Right," L'Argent said, sounding unsure. "Let's.. try and find what he was talking about.." During the whole exchange, Fang whimpered uncertainly, hiding his hulking frame behind Guin and Mikael. "Some guard dog he is!" L'Argent exclaimed, but it was more of a nervous remark than anything. The shadows seemed to encroach upon them, peering curiously at the back of their heads. Subconsciously, they moved closer to each other, wands held out.  
  
"There!" Glittering on the ground was a shimmering liquid, spilled haphazardly along the ground, as though whatever had placed it there had thrashed around before moving. "I think that's it.. we should just follow this, now," Guin said, and they moved forward nervously. And they found it. Perhaps ten minutes' walk from the lake was the crumpled form of the unicorn, legs broken underneath it in a sad little heap. Even in that undignified death, it was fey and sad, and Guin's throat closed up again, this time in a lump of tears. "Oh," she whispered.  
  
They shot up a fountain of green sparks to let Hagrid know where they were. When he found them eventually, after several minute's searching, he was furious. "What'd yeh think yer doin', eh?" he demanded, black beetle eyes narrowed in rage and worry. "I tol' yeh ter stick on th' path, an' what are yeh doin'?" They murmured their apologies, though by the time they got back to the castle, Hagrid had calmed down somewhat. "Now I won' tell Pr'fessor McGonagall abou' this, but yeh'd better listen better in the future!"  
  
"We will, Hagrid," they chorused contritely.  
  
-----  
  
The next week, Guin was quite pleased to see that the Gryffindor hourglass had dropped drastically since last night. Scuttlebutt told her that Hermione, Longbottom, Malfoy, and Potter had gotten caught after hours, wandering around the school after hours. Even though together with her and L'Argent's points, the points taken from Slytherin added to forty, that was nothing compared to the hundred and fifty that Gryffindor had suffered. Wonderful! Slytherin was again in the lead. Another unicorn had died. 


	14. Catalyst

Guin ran her hand through her hair, green eyes narrowing as she glared at L'Argent. "You want me to /what/?" the girl demanded, one eyebrow raising in unconscious imitation of Angeline.  
  
The boy raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, it'll be better for both of you, to apologize – you know you hate fighting; you're both upset, I can tell—"  
  
"But she started it! She didn't want to go along with the pixies—"  
  
"C'mon, Guin, it's just as much your fault as hers.. If you'd both just /apologize/, you could do it at the same time, neither one of you'd have to go first—"  
  
"Drop it, L'Argent!"  
  
And, being a Slytherin, he was not inclined to pursue lost causes. With a shrug, L'Argent yawned elaborately. "Suit yourself. But I think you're both being stupid." Then, to change the subject and avert further trouble (he could see Guin's eyes starting to narrow again, and a dangerous red color flushing her face) he asked her questions from their history class, in preparation for the exams. "When was the official Wizard Separation Act?"  
  
"Oh, no.. Can we study for another subject?" Guin wanted to know, lounging in one of the couches in the common room.  
  
"No. You're never going to want to study for history, might as well get it over with."  
  
"L'Argent, you sound so damn responsible – I'm afraid you're growing up!"  
  
"No!" he yelped, looking frightened, "No no no! Anything but that!"  
  
"I see.. accountancy in your future!" Guin said, in sepulchral tones, waving her hands at him. L'Argent pretended to faint, attracting curious and disparaging stares from several of the older Slytherins and a sneer from Malfoy. Guin folded up her books with a sniff, and shoved L'Argent good-naturedly as she headed for the first year girls' dorms.  
  
Rilla had become quite chummy with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, two of the Gryffindors who were, in Guin's educated opinion, quite silly. They were apt to giggle things that seemed, to Guin, rather foolish. Still, if Rilla wanted to befriend them, that was her problem. They'd probably drive her insane with their incessant chatter, and it would serve her right, too. /She/ wasn't about to say anything to a "friend" like that – L'Argent was wrong, of course, and it was Rilla that needed to grow up.  
  
Exams crept up on them and then tackled, dragging their claws through the nerves of the students. Many of the teachers seemed to think that it was absolutely necessary to prowl between the desks and make them as nervous as possible. To make matters more difficult, it was unusually hot in the classrooms, and Guin's hair plastered to her neck as she stared longingly out the window, attempting to remember the correct incantations for Levitating Charms and other equally "useful" spells.  
  
Though, for the most part, Guin's exams went well, there were some spectacular pratfalls, made by herself and others. Pansy Parkinson's pineapple, which she was supposed to make tap dance across Flitwick's desk, insisted on performing some odd sort of bunny hop in concert with an apple that happened to be there as well. In Transfiguration, Guin's mouse, which was supposed to be a snuffbox, somehow retained a foot, and dragged itself forlornly along the table. The Forgetfulness potion in Snape's class went slightly better; she concocted a draft so powerful that Goyle could not remember his name, though, as L'Argent whispered to her, he probably couldn't remember it normally, anyway.  
  
Once Snape had restored Goyle's memory, fighting a grin from his face, he dismissed the class. As they left, Guin and L'Argent could hear Potter and Weasley complaining about Snape. "They're really not very fair to him," Guin said after a moment's hesitation, "He's not as horrible as they make him out to be." They both peered thoughtfully after the retreating Gryffindors.  
  
"Yeah," L'Argent said absently, "It's almost like they suspect him of something."  
  
"You don't think...?" Guin began.  
  
"What if—"  
  
"They think Snape would steal—"  
  
"The Philosopher's Stone?"  
  
And, abruptly, they knew that was exactly what the Dream Team thought.  
  
"But that's just batty!" Guin exclaimed, "Completely bonkers."  
  
"I know," L'Argent said fervently, as they walked to the next exam.  
  
Finally, it was all over, and the two children raced each other down the stairs and out into the sun. Guin rolled the sleeves of her robe up to her shoulders as they reached the outdoors, and after a moment, L'Argent did the same. They stretched and examined the broad lawn, which was filled with students mingling and enjoying the rest of the day off. There were Potter and Weasley and Granger, their heads together and talking about something; there was Pansy, torturing Malfoy; there were Lavender and Parvati, and there – that was Rilla.  
  
The girl stood off by herself, looking worried about something. L'Argent turned a stern silver gaze on her, and Guin sighed. "All right, all right! I'll talk to her." Instantly, his expression turned smug, but Guin ignored him and walked to Rilla.  
  
"Hi," she said uncertainly.  
  
"Hi," Rilla replied.  
  
They both looked at the ground for a bit.  
  
"We're friends again?"  
  
"Friends," was the decisive reply.  
  
"Hey, let's go push the Weasley twins into the pond!" Guin said.  
  
"Race you!" Rilla said.  
  
In the end, they enlisted L'Argent's help, and managed to surreptitiously nudge Fred and George off balance as they tickled the giant squid, toppling them into the shallows. With yelps of outrage, they spluttered and attempted to stand up; their friend Lee Jordan took a cheerful revenge and ducked all three first years into the water as well. Shrieking with laughter, Rilla floundered in the murky water, and somehow ended up seated precariously on one of the squid's tentacles. Once she saw her position, the girl screeched and threw herself in the opposite direction.  
  
The assembled students laughed uproariously at the debacle, and Guin thought she even saw some of the teachers smiling. Of course, the expressions were merely those corner twitchings of the lip that professors used when children were doing something funny, but prohibited; designed not to actually approve of the conduct, but unable to help themselves in any way. Professor Flitwick, for one, seemed to find it extremely amusing, his high-pitched giggles echoing through the crowd.  
  
And so, later that night, sopping wet but grinning from ear to ear, Guin returned to the castle, leaving damp footprints in her wake as she traveled through the castle. Her robes tangled around her legs, sticking to them, and after a bit of that, she was rather glad to reach the common room. Tucking strands of saturated hair behind her ears, Guin spoke the password through chattering teeth. "C-cottonm-mouth." She changed into clean robes, but not before casting a drying spell on the wet ones.  
  
Although for a time she curled up on her bed, Guin did not sleep. She, Rilla, and L'Argent had a meeting to go exploring that night, and perhaps cook up an end of the year prank. Rilla did not want to be involved in the execution, but had no problem with planning: she had a Machiavellian twist that rivaled the Slytherins for sneakiness, at times. And so, at the appointed time, Guin and L'Argent slipped from the Common Room and met Rilla where they had promised to.  
  
"The Dream Team's up to something," Rilla whispered, "They've been acting weird all afternoon.."  
  
Guin and L'Argent glanced at each other. "We think," Guin said, "That they suspect Snape's trying to steal the stone."  
  
"Snape? That's ludicrous!" Rilla exclaimed. "He may be nasty, but he wouldn't do that.."  
  
"Yeah, I know. C'mon, let's go. We're going outside tonight."  
  
In her pocket, Guin knew, Rilla was carrying the crystal. Though none of them had figured out what to do with the thing, it was comforting to have it, somehow. It fit nicely into a magicked pouch inside the robes, and hung against Rilla's leg. It was fairly easy to slip through the hallways; they were practiced at it by now. Filch must have been patrolling another area of the castle, for he was nowhere in sight. Outside, the night was cool and the grass dewy, it slipped under their feet and soaked the edges of their robes.  
  
Suddenly, Rilla drew close to them. "I— I can feel it – the eyes – back, we have to go back in the castle—"  
  
"Rilla, what's wrong?" L'Argent and Guin asked together, before a new voice spoke out of the darkness, a voice that was oddly familiar.  
  
"Stupefy!"  
  
A flash of light, then Guin could feel herself crumpling to the ground, but it was a fleeting sensation, enveloped in overwhelming blackness.  
  
-----  
  
The sound of someone shifting next to her woke Guin from the stunned trance. She rose, muscles aching from where they had fallen, and looked blearily around her. She was sitting on the ground, with the dampness of the grass soaking through her robes, and L'Argent was waking as well, looking as terrible as she felt. But – something – someone – was missing. "Rilla!" Guin exclaimed, "Where's Rilla?" That startled L'Argent out of his daze, and they both looked frantically around them.  
  
Rilla, however, was nowhere to be found. "Christ," L'Argent breathed, "Shit. She's gone!"  
  
"What do we – what do we do?" Guin said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. It wasn't working very well, and she could feel laughter of the hysterical variety bubbling in the back of her throat. Forcing it down with a swallow, she turned to him and nodded decisively. "Right. We'll help each other to our feet and – and tell the teachers? No – whoever took her can't have gone far, yet—"  
  
"Yeah.. no Apparating on the Hogwarts grounds."  
  
"So.. the only logical place would be the forest.. But where? Wait – what's that?"  
  
Then, on the ground, they saw the crystal. It had been pulsing dully, soft enough so that the untrained eye would mistake it for a rock. But when Guin and L'Argent looked at it, it suddenly burst into the brightness that it had at first displayed, but now there was something different: in the depths of the clear rock, they could see a forest scene: dark figures, on the very island in the lake that Guin and Rilla had discovered.  
  
"C-could Rilla have done that?" It wasn't very comforting to note that L'Argent sounded just as panicky as she felt. "Or is it a trap of some sort?"  
  
"I don't know," Guin said, "But we have to rescue her. Come on!"  
  
Then, L'Argent really did start laughing. He giggled until his sides hurt, and, wheezing, waved away her concerned gaze. "No – nothing's wrong – it's just that you – you sound like a Gryffindor. 'We have to rescue her.' It – it sounded like something out of a horrible B movie –" She was about to start laughing, too, but then glanced towards the darkness of the forest, which now looked menacing and brooding.  
  
"Let's go – we're wasting time." They began walking. 


	15. Conflict

The Forbidden Forest is not a particularly pleasant place to find yourself at night; even more so when your best friend has been kidnapped and you have just been stunned by an unknown foe, and left lying on the grass outside your school. It would be excusable if you were nervous. It would be excusable if you jumped every now and then at a tiny sound behind you, thinking it was the evil-doer come back to hurt you. It would also be excusable if you snapped at a boy who until recently was your rival, and still was, in a sense. So Guin's behavior was quite understandable. Right?  
  
"Be /quiet/!" she hissed at L'Argent as they tiptoed through the underbrush, heads ducked and limbs drawn close to their bodies. Several times, each had practically suffered a heart attack when a twig or branch snapped underfoot. The crystal, still with the image of the island emblazoned in its center, was shoved into Guin's pocket, though the light created a misty patch in the fabric of her robe.  
  
"I'm /trying/, Marlowe," L'Argent returned, teeth gritted. Both children had their wands out; Guin's fingers were clutched so tightly around the ebony of hers that her knuckles were completely white, the blood driven from them by the force of her grip. Highlighted in the paleness was the old scar on her left hand, where she used to chew her hand nervously. It was funny, she thought, in all the books she'd read; it never said anything about the heroes feeling sick to their stomachs and nervous as hell. Or jumping at shadows. If this was a book, she'd be charging the island at this very moment, wand out, and shouting something suitably stupid.  
  
"I think.. I think we turned off the path here."  
  
"We could go back," L'Argent said, his face unreadable, but pale in the light of the moon that filtered through the trees. "We could get a teacher."  
  
"You know we can't."  
  
"I know."  
  
They left the path and proceeded, if possible, with more caution than before. In her head, Guin was reciting all the spells that she knew, hoping that one of them would be appropriate for the situation fast approaching. Jelly-legs jinx; stunning charm; disarming incantation; the fire-calling curse. All of them might work, but Guin was deathly afraid that she'd forget them once they reached.. wherever Rilla was being held.  
  
As quietly as possible, they stalked through the forest: Guin was more used to this type of thing; her forays into the wilderness at Shadehurst had made her feet light and her ability to escape notice better than L'Argent's; he was a city boy at heart, and stumbled uncertainly over the underbrush. They passed tree after tree; the branches whispering in the wind. Guin had the uncanny feeling that the forest itself was moving the news of what was occurring through some odd plant-language known only to the green of the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"Here!" Guin said, relief flooding her as the reflection of the lake could be seen – and then, relief faded rapidly as she saw what confronted them.  
  
It was the lake, though not as she had last seen it. While the waters before had been fairly shallow, and had maybe spanned a width of twenty feet on each side before reaching the island in the middle, they were now dark and roiling. Choppy waves cut across the surface, and it seemed miles and miles until the tiny speck of land could be seen in the distance. Like an oil slick over the top, an ebon shadow lay, iridescent and shimmering with a prism of color. In dismay, Guin walked around the entire circumference, only to find that no matter what the angle viewed, the island was equidistant from the shore.  
  
"Whoever captured Rilla's enchanted the lake," L'Argent said, eyes squinting as he knelt beside the water, reaching a hand into it. "Powerful magic—" He bit off a strangled cry and suddenly rocked backward. Twining up his arm was a shadow, a liquid specter that gripped the boy's hand tightly. Pulling back, he strained against the prisoning lake, and cursing fumbled for his wand, as Guin did the same.  
  
She was quicker; pointing her ebon wand at the lake and screaming, "Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" It was the first spell that came to her mind; and the result was that the living water emitted a hollow sort of squeal, that sounded as though several stereos were inverted on each other and combined with the spine-shivering sound of nails on a blackboard. Wincing, she covered her ears, then gasped as L'Argent was thrown backwards by the release and the force of the spell, landing in a heap on the ground.  
  
Picking himself up, he winced and rubbed his arm, where a rosy pink rash was forming, in snaking lines where the water had touched him. "I don't think I want to know what that was – it /burns/. How can we get across, if that.. that thing is there?" Resting on his haunches, L'Argent muttered to himself and scratched fitfully at his hand.  
  
Guin stared at the water moodily, thinking hard. Help! We need help. How can we do this alone? We're just kids; this is powerful Dark Magic; I can't deal with this.. If only I could get across the water. The water? Suddenly it hit her: a voice from the past, echoing in her ear. A small pool of clear liquid, in a moor near Shadehurst, and a beautiful, ethereal face. 'If you ever require assistance, speak the name of Aua.' Stepping forward, Guin threw her arm out imploringly to the water, fingers stretching apart. "Aua! We need you!"  
  
With a burbling sound, the nymph appeared, balancing delicately on top of the roiling black water. Her feet just barely touched the 'ground,' and her mouth was contorted into an expression of extreme distaste. "Child, this is as good a time as any to ask my boon," Aua said, curtsying prettily to them. L'Argent was staring at her as if thunderstruck, his mouth open. ("Might want to shut that," Guin advised him cheerfully, "Wouldn't want anything to fly in.") Aua heard, and crinkled her eyes in a smile, which rapidly faded as she prodded the surface of the water with one foot. "This," she said, "is horrible. It should not have happened. Evil. Wrong. I will take you across to the island safely, if you will destroy the wizard who caused this.  
  
"Take my hand."  
  
Guin and Mikael stepped forward and each took on of Aua's hands, gripping them tightly without relinquishing hold on their wands. The nymph's skin felt smooth and somehow insubstantial, like lustrous silk with a sheen of water atop it. A strange tingling began in their fingers and traveled through them, and it was all Guin could do not to drop Aua's hand and twitch with laughter. Her stomach quivered. "Step onto the water," Aua ordered them. Both children were reluctant to set foot on the sinister surface; eventually, Guin stuck out a tentative foot. To their great surprise, they found that it now supported their weight, only shifting gently beneath.  
  
Though the shadows licked towards their legs, not one was able to catch a hold. Aua glided forward calmly, and they struggled to keep up, tripping over waves that now seemed as much of an obstacle as the forest floor had been. Evidently, also, Aua was doing something – magical – to shorten the distance to the shore: it was almost as though the far-away length of the land had been an illusion, which they only now could see. "I must leave you here," Aua whispered, as their feet touched the dry ground again. "But gods be with you. I believe the girl is at the center of this young-land."  
  
As quietly as they had ever moved, L'Argent and Guin slipped through the overhanging foliage, towards the clear and rocky center of the island. Suddenly, drifting across the silence, came the sound of voices: or at least, one voice, chanting in a dull, flat tone that was somehow more terrifying than any scream. There, in a clearing, was a scene that chilled their blood. A dark, tall figure, back to them, was mixing a cauldron of some sort. It fizzled and popped with a vile noise. "My Lord, wherever you are," he was murmuring to something.. that shimmered dully in the moonlight, a form not quite in this world. "Quirrell failed – he was weak – but this potion, with the life of this Muggle-girl, will give you more power – enough to formulate a better plan."  
  
The voice was familiar. But Guin could not place it. Quirrell? The /Professor/? For a moment, she fought the impulse to laugh – and here, Potter and Co. had thought Snape the traitor. Stuttering Professor Quirrell.. 'My Lord'? Guin swept her gaze across the clearing, and found her friend. Rilla was bound to a tree, her arms spread out in a T, and tied to a fairly straight branch, legs spread-eagled as well, to prevent her from moving at all. Her head hung limply down on her chest, and a large bruise was beginning to swell her eye. Soft green smoke bubbled up from the cauldron. Guin blinked; at her side, L'Argent was gradually tensing, his face bleeding dry of color. Something he had seen – "No," he breathed, "NO!"  
  
At this, the figure turned around.  
  
-----  
  
The face of Henry L'Argent was suffused red with a rage that made him quite unrecognizable. The handsome features twisted into a combination of puzzlement and fury. "MIKAEL! What are you – you'll ruin every – I didn't mean for you to –"  
  
Uncle Henry's features now twisted in a comedy of indecision. He stared at his nephew, wand trembling in his hands. It twitched up and down, commanding Guin's attention. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have woken up yet! How did you get across the shadow barrier? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" He finished with a shout that should have echoed, but was instead absorbed by that curious silence surrounding the island, a waiting silence. The wand flicked up and down, a parody of vacillation.  
  
"I should ask," L'Argent said, his voice icy, "The same of you."  
  
Guin was inching towards where Rilla was suspended, hoping to free her while the two talked. "Stop right there!" Henry shrieked, his voice panicked.  
  
Guin raised her hands, slipping the wand into her sleeve where it went unnoticed. "Uncle Henry – why? You don't have to do this.. You could let us go.."  
  
"No! I'm going to have to kill you," he said, sounding as though trying to convince himself. Henry's face crumpled. "I only wanted to kill /her/ – a Mudblood, to lend the powers of her life-spirit to the ritual— not you – oh my god. Angeline would never forgive me—"  
  
"What does my mother have to do with you?" Guin demanded coldly. She found, now that the danger was here, it was not as frightening as she thought. She could stare at the man before her with contempt and disdain, rather than hiding from him in fear. Keep him talking, Guin. In the books, in the movies, the villain always gave away his plans, while the hero thought of an escape. Keep him talking. And think. God, /think/!  
  
"Don't you see? I love her! I've always loved her! She was so perfect, the dream woman—" His smile gradually took on a slightly insane quality. "But she'll love me now, oh yes. Edmund Marlowe, that pompous fool, he's dead – long gone. Thanks to the Great Lord. She'll love me when I bring back our master and help return the world to the Golden Age of power.."  
  
"You're insane!" L'Argent said, staring at his Uncle in horrified disbelief. It seemed as though he was trying to convince himself of the sight, though the slightly dazed silver gaze stared beyond the figure of the fallen angel, Henry, and into some distant point.  
  
"It's true," the elder L'Argent said, his eyes crinkling in a charming smile, the ghost of what he had been when Guin first met him. "The life of a Mudblood, in certain of the Dark Rituals, grants power – almost as good as a Philosopher's Stone, for bringing back the cursed – the half-lives.."  
  
"You want to bring back Voldemort?" Guin interrupted, disgusted. Rilla was beginning to stir, twisting in the bonds that held her tightly to the tree. Little details stood out at her, the chaffed, red look of her friend's wrists, where the rope cut into them. Rescue Rilla, and get the hell out of there.  
  
"Uncle Henry," L'Argent said, pleading. "You don't have to do this.. Untie Rilla, let us go.."  
  
"No, no, I do," he said, smiling crazily again. "It's started already, you see." And here he raised a ceremonial sacrificial knife, the handle ornately carved, and started towards Rilla.  
  
"NO!" the children yelled, and Guin attempted to cast a hex on him.  
  
He was too quick; and the spell he used hit Guin in the stomach and bowled her over backwards, seeing stars. A word, "Impello!", another blast of sound and she could hear L'Argent retching nearby, sprawled on the rocky ground, his arms hanging limply. To her feet, too late to save L'Argent from too much harm – "Minuo!" she screamed at Uncle Henry. "Minuo, minuo!" The first spell missed, though the last two opened bleeding cuts on Henry's face; she could also see a damp patch seeping through the robes on his stomach.  
  
"Plaga!" was his return: this spell slammed into her head, snapping it back and toppling her backwards again. And there was Uncle Henry, moving towards her best friend with the knife glittering in the moonlight, beginning to drag it across her neck. She wanted to scream, but that would give away her movement. Guin staggered to her feet, and raised her wand, pointed it at Henry's back—  
  
"Stupefy!" she managed, voice hoarse. The spell hit right on target, and Henry crumpled. Guin rushed to Rilla's side, but not before pointing her wand at Henry again. "Locomoter mortis," she said vindictively, satisfied as his body stiffened into immobility. Relieving the wizard of his wand, she slipped it into her pocket, and then scooped up the knife. Rilla's bonds came away easily with a few strokes of the blade, and Guin tottered under the sudden weight as the smaller girl toppled onto her.  
  
"Guin?" Rilla asked, blinking.  
  
"It's me," Guin said.  
  
"I— I hurt—"  
  
"It's okay.. We're going to get back somehow.." But Guin was the only one standing. L'Argent was still unconscious, and Rilla could barely stand up. "Somehow." 


	16. Finis

It was cold. A wind tugged at the tree branches, making them whistle softly. The three children huddled together in a small cluster, nursing their bruises and conserving heat. Rilla was the worst off: Uncle Henry had managed to inflict a number of injuries upon her before Guin and L'Argent could come to the rescue. L'Argent was mostly just shocked, bewildered and sore. Several times, Guin had to snap her fingers in front of his face to force him out of a trance. "How could he do it?" L'Argent whispered, over and over, "How could /he/ do it? My uncle, the Dark Wizard." Here, a mirthless laugh, disparaging.  
  
For a moment Guin pondered the wisdom of commenting, "Yes, but at least your parents are alive and decent people." She sincerely doubted whether Aviva L'Argent had made her son watch as she shriveled the arm off of a captive witch, expressionless as the woman screamed. No, somehow it did not seem – tasteful. She decided, also for his sake, not to mention the triteness of certain comments he had made. Instead, Guin let him talk while Rilla curled in a ball on the ground, her head resting on a pad of grass. Beside them, the motionless form of Uncle Henry sat, eyes rolling balefully, though he was unable to budge.  
  
"I never thought – I never would have guessed – he... he was in love with your /mum/?" L'Argent was not at his most coherent; he was practically babbling to her. However, both of them were distracted as Rilla's eyes closed, she was drifting off to sleep.  
  
"No! No, Ril, stay awake. If you've got a concussion you can't fall asleep yet—" Guin shook her lightly by the shoulder, pulling the girl upright. Rilla blinked hazily at her, one eye seemed to be lazing off to the side, and her gaze was rather unfocused. The blood in the shallow cut on her throat had dried and crusted in a rust-colored glop; strands of curly hair had become mixed in the mess. "We have to start back. We can't stay here all night.."  
  
"How?" L'Argent asked dryly. "I don't think either of us are strong enough to carry – /that/," he spat, glaring at his uncle; "And Rilla can't walk by herself."  
  
"We.. we could support her, and maybe lift him with a spell?"  
  
"Hmm. Wingardium Leviosa?"  
  
"If we both try it – on a count?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Three – two – one – Wingardium Leviosa!" they yelled. Unfortunately, the combined effect of the spell lifted him too quickly, and Henry shot up towards the trees, knocking his head against the branches. Muffled noises of protest emitted from his throat, though he was unable to do anything more. Guin smiled pleasantly, lowering her wand a bit and allowing Henry to drop towards the ground. He halted an inch above the loam, eyes glancing frantically as far to the side as they could.  
  
"Aua?" Guin asked uncertainly, and the water nymph poked her head from the water, looking healthier than she had before. Waving brightly at the three children and the silent man, the creature raised herself up from the depths, balancing delicately on her toes, like a prima ballerina. Now that the water was back to its usual consistency, she seemed more vivid and alive. "I wonder – we need to get across –"  
  
"I have a better idea than before, actually. I have some degree of control over the water – I shall part it, and you will be able to walk down the lane. But you must move quickly."  
  
"Aua?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why are you helping me?"  
  
"Nymphs are mysterious creatures, Guinivere Marlowe," Aua said with an enigmatic half-smile, "I should not want to tell you our secrets." And, suddenly, the waters parted. It was, Guin reflected later, almost a scene straight out of the Bible. With a silken sound of liquid vacating air, the lake peeled in two, a small rocky path defined by shimmering watery walls on either side. Unnerved, they stepped forward, Rilla's arms thrown over one shoulder each. Uncle Henry floated forlornly behind them.  
  
Though they tried to move as fast as possible, the girl leaning her weight upon her shoulders slowed Guin and L'Argent considerably. Several times Guin stumbled on rocks and potholes, and by the time they reached the shore, she was certainly pleased to have that bit of the ordeal over with. Behind them, the lake water returned to its original place with a squishy noise and a small pop. Aua was nowhere to be seen, and there was nothing left for them to do except begin the long trek back to Hogwarts.  
  
-----  
  
Severus Snape slept soundly in his bed, dreaming. Images flashed past his vision, too quickly for him to see. Suddenly, sharp pain in his leg called his attention. An attack? Voldemort? Bolting upright, Snape was confronted by a small gray kitten, her eyes narrowed at him expectantly. She had been digging her claws into her leg, and when he glared at her and tried to shove the feline off the bed, she said, "Mew."  
  
-----  
  
It was almost dawn by the time the trio returned, with the man still floating behind them. If Guin was expecting any sort of hero's welcome, her expectations were sorely disappointed. It was Filch who found them first; his bulging eyes delighted as he caught site of the bedraggled, bloody, and bruised students. "Ah! On the grounds at night? By the looks of things in the Forest as well. Oh, dear me, you're in for it this time." Guin rolled her eyes at L'Argent; they were both in agreement that predicting horrible fates for the students gave Filch as much pleasure as it did Trelawney. Suddenly he noticed Henry L'Argent and his face turned even bulgier. "What's— what this?"  
  
Professor Snape, up early and wandering the hallways, rescued them, scowling at Filch until the man beat a retreat, muttering to his ugly cat. "I expect you'll want to see Dumbledore," Snape said dryly, his tone reminding Guin very strongly of someone she knew. Glancing at Uncle Henry, he frowned suddenly. "That man – Henry L'Argent!" Snape, however, was not inclined to talk aimlessly, even though they started a frantic string of explanations. "No, no, I'll hear your story in the Headmaster's office."  
  
They were distracted suddenly by a small commotion: Mrs. Norris was hissing and spitting at a younger cat that had thrown herself at the ugly creature. "Liadan! Stop!" Mrs. Norris scratched frantically at the kitten, but she was really too old to be much of a use. With an unearthly screech, Filch, completely ignoring everything else, lunged towards the cloud of dust that was the scuffling cats. Guin was quicker, and she rescued her familiar, cuddling the creature against her chest.  
  
Snape ushered them away before Filch, apoplectic and bright red with rage, could say anything. He smirked at Guin and Liadan, who was washing her face innocently. "Your cat," he said sardonically, "Is quite a pleasant creature. It was she who woke me up." Before them was a large stone gargoyle, and Snape frowned at it for a moment, as though attempting to remember something. "Ah. Whizzbee." The door swung open. "Follow me," Snape said, when the three children hesitated. "No one's going to murder you, though I can't say as much about Mr. Filch, once he gets your hands on your cat."  
  
It took Guin several seconds to realize that Snape had made a joke, if with rather questionable humor. Still, the occasion was so momentous that she managed a small half-smile before they reached the actual office proper. Dumbledore was seated at his desk, concentrated on writing something quite busily. He let the fidget for a moment before folding his hands over the parchment and smiling at them. "Ah, yes – the Terrible Three. Good morning, Severus," he said cheerfully.  
  
"Headmaster," Snape said stiffly, a bit uncomfortable. After all, he was being trailed by battered-looking students and a man floating five inches off the ground, attempting to look enraged but unable to move a muscle. Dumbledore took all this in serenely, the slightest bit of surprise flashing onto his features as he, too, noted the identity of the floater. A sharp glance flickered from Henry to L'Argent, who was staring back impassively, as though determined not to cry.  
  
Noting, as well, their exhaustion, Dumbledore murmured something, picking up his wand and flicking it thrice. Three chairs appeared there, and Guin, Rilla, and L'Argent sat down gratefully. "Thank you, Professor," Guin said, and she meant it with all her heart.  
  
"Now, I would like to ask you some questions, and then Madam Pomfrey will probably want to corner you," he said, with a smile. Their story tumbled out in a disorganized manner; only astute questions by the Headmaster sorted it out in the end. Noticing that L'Argent was still bleeding, and Rilla's eyes were lazing off in different directions, "Mr. L'Argent, perhaps you and Miss Jackson should visit the infirmary now." They got up to leave, and Guin began to follow, but Dumbledore called her back. "No, Miss Marlowe, please remain; I would like to talk to you."  
  
Puzzled, Guin sat down again. Supporting Rilla on his arm, L'Argent walked out, to be followed by Snape, making sure they reached the Infirmary without mishap. Dumbledore's electric blue gaze returned to Guin, and she shifted nervously in her seat. "So, Miss Marlowe. A daring rescue, a mystery solved. Almost worthy of those charming Muggle books that Mr. L'Argent enjoys so much?" Guin's mouth dropped open: Dumbledore knew about the Hardy Boys?  
  
He smiled enigmatically. "I think that perhaps for that heroic conduct, I will award Slytherin House a hundred points— and due to several unfortunate events, Mr. Potter could not make the Quidditch Championships, and Slytherin won—"  
  
"Professor, I can't accept that," Guin interrupted, surprising both Dumbledore and herself.  
  
"You can't?" he asked, brows raising in question.  
  
"I – I can't. I'm no one's hero, Professor. I just did what I had to do."  
  
"You are sure, Miss Marlowe? A hundred points would secure a victory for Slytherin."  
  
"No, sir," she said after a moment, decisive. "Sir? I'm really very hungry – may I go get something to eat, please?"  
  
"You may." Guin slid out of her seat and started for the door. "Wait—" Dumbledore said, and she turned around, to see him smiling quietly at her. "Miss Marlowe, there are certain things that you will learn about life. One of them is that true heroes are only doing what they have to, and second, you need be no one's hero except your own. I would say you're accomplishing that admirably."  
  
Guin couldn't reply, as there was suddenly a small and mysterious lump in her throat. So instead, she nodded, took Liadan in her arms once more, and hastily retreated from the room.  
  
-----  
It was only afterward, on her way to the infirmary, that she learned what had happened in the school, between Quirrell and Harry Potter. It was with mixed feelings that she pondered it: now Potter was a /true/ hero; it seemed as though he delighted in every opportunity for attention and every chance to act noble and Gryffindor-ish. Though it was anathema to Guin, she did suppose that he had his purposes: if Voldemort had returned to life in the basements of Hogwarts, it would not be beneficial to anyone. Still, she thought that her way of dealing with adventure was the more sensible one.  
  
Visiting Rilla in the infirmary, she saw Potter sitting on one of the beds, preparing to leave. "Hey," she greeted him warily; unsure of how he would react to a Slytherin approaching him, the Gryffindor of all Gryffindors. Guin was inclined to be friendly that night, for she was still cheerful about rescuing Rilla. Liadan watched him silently, cat-eyes narrowed.  
  
"Hey," he replied, also sounding unsure. She noticed a book resting in lap, but didn't comment on it. Some things, she supposed, were personal.  
  
"Um," Guin said after a moment, then, "Thank you."  
  
"For what?" he asked, surprised.  
  
"For beating Quirrell. And Voldemort. For being a hero." Perhaps he could hear the sarcasm in her voice, though Potter's green eyes, darker than her own, were flabbergasted, embarrassed, perhaps, she thought, just a bit gratified.  
  
"Oh," Potter said uncomfortably, fingers running over the book, "That." A pause, and then: "I wasn't being a hero or anything. Really. I just did what I had to do." Now it was Guin's turn to look surprised, as he had just echoed her words from hours before.  
  
Maybe, she thought to herself, Dumbledore had been right. They exchanged pleasantries, and Guin allowed Harry to continue on his way.  
  
-----  
  
L'Argent was in the Common Room, alone. He had hardly said a word since their return from the Forbidden Forest, and Guin, frankly, was worried about him. The boy's eyes stared blankly off into the distance, and he sat on a couch with his knees tucked to his chest, chin resting upon them. Guin approached him silently, and then sat beside him, glancing at his emotionless face. "L'Argent," she said, quietly, so as not to alert the rest of the Slytherins, who were sleeping.  
  
"Go away," he mumbled into his legs.  
  
"No," Guin said stubbornly.  
  
"Why not? Go away!"  
  
"I'm not going away," she insisted.  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Look, Marlowe, I'm not going to argue with you about this. I don't feel like talking right now."  
  
"You might not feel like it," she told him, "But you have to."  
  
"Why?" he said bitterly. "You saw what I have for an Uncle."  
  
"I know. He might not be a bad person, really deep down—"  
  
"Oh, don't bullshit me, Marlowe!" L'Argent said angrily. To his evident surprise, Guin looked pleased.  
  
"Yes! Yes, that's it! You have to let out your emotions. Your anger. The pain. It's not healthy to keep it all inside." She had heard that somewhere, and it sounded right. "I won't say anything to anyone else. It's okay.."  
  
It was as though a watershed had broken. She had expected something, but not tears. L'Argent cried quietly, the ugly sort of crying that grownups make, when they're ashamed of the emotion but can't help it. He choked back the sound, causing hiccups. Nose and eyes streaming, the boy looked horrified at the sudden show of feeling, while Guin patted him uncertainly, awkwardly, on the arm. She didn't know what else to do. Hugging him never occurred to her, and after a moment, she returned her hand to her lap. L'Argent regained control of himself, as well, pounding his fist on the couch arm.  
  
"That bastard. That selfish, unbelievable bastard!" the boy growled. "I can't believe it. And what he said about your mum – that was just crazy. Why would she be happy if he bought Voldemort back?"  
  
Guin bit her lip, than said, "No, it's not. Mother – Angeline's – she's a Dark Witch." Guin whispered the words, not wanting them to travel beyond his ears. The tears had stopped, and L'Argent ran his hand, palm back, over his nose, wiping away the mucus.  
  
"/What/?"  
  
"Keep it /down/!" she hissed. "But yes. That's why she'd be happy. Mother's.. well. She's been involved in that for a long time."  
  
They sat, bleak and morose, and waited for the night.  
  
-----  
  
Once L'Argent cleaned off his face, they changed into their dress robes and walked to the Great Hall. The boy looked much better, he even had a tiny smile on his face as they saw that the Hall was decorated in silver and green: Slytherin was winning the House Cup for the seventh year running. Above the high table hung the Serpent, which seemed weirdly alive as the banner fluttered in the slight breeze that passed through the room. Above, the sky was dark and star-studded, and the Slytherins, boisterous and happy, cheered until Dumbledore managed to get them to stop.  
  
"Another year gone!" he began, launching into a sentimental speech for several seconds. Guin tuned him out until he got to the part about House points. "In fourth place, Gryffindor—" Something about his twinkling blue eyes struck her as odd. Some strange feeling, a premonition almost, struck her suddenly – Guin could guess what he was about to do, but could only cross her fingers. "With three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."  
  
Though all of Guin's house was celebrating, herself included, Draco Malfoy took things slightly too far, banging his cup against the table and smirking. "Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," Dumbledore told them, "However, recent events must be taken into account." For a moment, Guin's stomach twitched nervously: would he break his word and award the points and recognition to her? And then, a second later, profound relief. It wasn't about Guin at all! Only about Ron Weasley.  
  
"Ahem. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley..." Weasley blushed, causing Guin to roll her eyes. "For the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Guin had been right. She could guess what was coming next, easily. It would be Granger, and then Harry.  
  
She was right, to some extent. She hadn't expected the winning points to go to Neville, though in retrospect, it was a wise decision. Neville reminded her somewhat of Rilla: eager, a little nervous, and cheerful, never really standing out but wishing it with all their hearts. The Slytherins, stunned, gaped at the Headmaster as though he had lost his mind, and many of them noted, with some anger, the tiny smile that graced the face of Guinivere Marlowe.  
  
-----  
  
Angeline was waiting at the station, and when they saw her, Guin and L'Argent exchanged a wordless glance. "You'll be okay," Guin whispered to him, and went to hug Rilla goodbye, for now.  
  
"Thank you," the curly-haired girl said.  
  
Guin smiled. "I just did what I had to do." 


End file.
